


Reclaiming Innocence

by MurtaghMorzanson



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Forced Prostitution, Gen, Good Kid Jason Todd, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jason Todd Deserves Better, Rated T because nothing graphic is shown, Underage Prostitution, archive warnings just to be safe, he rescues our baby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:49:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 28
Words: 95,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26730145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurtaghMorzanson/pseuds/MurtaghMorzanson
Summary: Jason Todd was kidnapped at nine-years-old and given two options. Work for his keep, or be forced to to work for his keep.His life was not pleasant, but Jason was nothing if not a fighter, and dammit if was he going to let the hell around him kill who he was as a person. Or his dreams of growing up and going to college.Those dreams suddenly came a little more into focus, when his idiot of a pimp accidentally tried to rent him toBruce Wayne. Poor bastard could have never guessed he was the Batman himself. Heck, not even Jason figured that out, at first. And Batman had practically adopted him.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 1157
Kudos: 2241
Collections: Bruce Wayne and his ever growing batfam





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so. This is basically an AU where instead of a thief, Jason was trafficked, and I was wondering "what if" someone tried to pimp him out to Bruce (who is horrified, mind you, don't worry there our Bruce is Good!Dad Bruce) and Bruce basically goes "Oh hell no" and adopts Jason almost on the spot. 
> 
> I've rated it T because I feel like it's no worse than Law & Order SVU. Jason is pretty blunt with his language, and they don't really dance around the fact that he's been raped repeatedly. So that is why all that is tagged. If those are triggers, then this probably isn't the fic for you, but just know this entire fic really harps on the evils of sex trafficking, and pedophilia in general. Those things are bad, and I am not shy about putting that fact on the story, even if Jason might, for at least a bit, not think anything done to him is specifically wrong. (Because, as a defense mechanism, he's convinced himself it was all voluntary. That thought process will be fixed for him. Anyway. I'll stop spoiling stuff, I just wanted to be clear up front so no one gets distressed.)
> 
> Nothing explicit will ever be shown.

Jason scrubbed his hands against his pants, trying to free himself of the clammy feeling that was taking over his whole body. 

He wasn’t _nervous._ No way.

Just… not excited. And very unsure about what was about to happen and _why_ Donny had woken him up by yelling “Todd” into the dormitory and then spent twenty minutes making him 'presentable.' 

_Why_ did Donny always pick _him_ for these special clients? There was eight other boys in the house. Why was _he_ always the one pimped out to away-visit clients? 

_“You’re the pretty one,”_ Donny always said, “ _It’s a compliment, you ungrateful brat.”_

At least when he worked nights in the house, the men couldn’t get too violent. 

But with these types of jobs? Away visits?

There was no supervision. No checks on the clients. No guards in the house, listening.

Jason shuddered, and wiped his hands again. 

“Knock it off,” Donny said, swatting Jason on the back of the head, his ring smacking his skull in a familiar pain, “you fuck this up and I’ll double your next shift.” 

“When have I ever fucked one of these up,” Jason grumbled, clenching his fists to try and stop. His palms were still sweating, though. Fuck. 

“None of your lip, either, I’m not in the mood.” 

Jason rolled his eyes and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, so Donny wouldn’t keep bitching about it. 

Donny had no right to be grumpy. Jason was about to make him _plenty_ of money. More than enough to cover Jason’s expenses for the _month._ Not that Donny would admit it. 

No. He’d go with whoever the client is over night. Maybe a day or two, then come back and Donny would have him on shift again the second he was physically capable, regardless of whether Jason still had any debts left for the month. 

“ _You want me to stop buying you those books?”_ Donny had said once, when Jason was ten and had complained about five men in one night. 

Poor, young, naive Jason. Five was the standard, now. 

“No,” had been his answer, so Jason didn’t bring it up anymore. The homeschool books Donny got him were the only things keeping him sane. 

One day, when he was too old and too big for this job, he’d be free. Donny would have no use for him, and he wouldn’t be at risk of _another,_ worse pimp taking him. Then he’d be able to make his own money, and go to school for _real._

That was the _one_ reason he stayed with Donny. He’d have to do the work regardless. At least Donny treated them well and didn’t dump them in the river when they grew too large and all their clients quit paying, like most the other pimps.

“You don’t need me to go over the rules,” Donny said, lowly, as they continued down 77th street, “right, boy?”

Jason rolled his eyes again and said, “‘Course not. Been doing this three years now, D.”

“Good. _Don’t_ fuck this one up.”

“You already said that,” Jason cut in, but Donny ignored him.

“I want him as a repeat.” 

It took all Jason had not to roll his eyes _yet again._ He knew if he had ‘too much’ attitude, Donny would flip his shit on him. So he frequently walked right up to the line. And danced there. 

But Donny didn’t have to tell him he _wanted him as a repeat._ That was _always_ the goal, no matter how much Jason disliked it. Some clients he preferred to never seen again.

Actually… most of his repeats he’d rather never see again. They were all terrible. But Jason _did_ know the rules: Do everything asked, and do it well. 

And Jason _did_ do it well. _That_ was probably why he was always chosen for these special clients. Donny did _not_ need to coach him, or worry Jason was being ornery and pissing off the client. 

They walked four more blocks, to a familiar restaurant good enough regular people could eat there without anyone getting suspicious of their private dealings and moral character, but just skeevy enough no one bat an eye at money and goods being exchanged in the back room. 

This was Gotham. Mind your own business and eat your baked ziti, that was basically the motto. 

Donny grabbed him by the upper arm and pulled him into the little dive, moving a little too fast for Jason’s short legs to keep up. They went through the side door, and Donny grunted a quick greeting to his ‘cousin’ in the kitchen as they passed. 

Fucking mob.

Jason focused on keeping his breathing even. It was almost go time and he needed to be ready. 

“Stay here,” Donny said, shoving Jason into the all-too familiar private dining room, in the back of the restaurant, where _all_ these sorts of deals went down. Donny walked out into the main room, probably to see if his mystery client was there.

Jason crossed his arms and tilted his head in greeting to the guard, who was sitting at the table across the room, playing solitaire with a worn deck of cards. 

Joey was his name, although he’d told Jason once he ‘preferred Joe, but at least Joey wasn’t as bad as J.J.’ Jason had grinned, a mere nine at the time, and agreed ‘J.J.’ was an awful nickname. 

“ _Word of advice, kid,”_ Joe had said, “ _pick a name you hate to give folks. Keeps the name your ma gave ya from leaving a bad taste in your mouth.”_

Jason had taken the advice to heart. All his repeats called him some variation of _Peter._

“—didn’t think you were serious, Don,” a quickly approaching voice said. Deep. Warm. Jason would guess this was a big guy, just based on his voice alone, and it took a lot in him to keep his body relaxed. 

And to ignore the dread coiling in his stomach. 

“Permanent seems to be your style,” Donny said from just outside the room, “I couldn’t bear to part with this one permanently, but he’s an example of what I can get ya, if you’re ever in the market for permanent.” 

Aww. Donny couldn’t bear to sell him permanently. 

How _sweet._

Jason took a step back, away from the door, and crossed his arms for half a second, before quickly dropping them again. _No attitude._

He didn’t want to be permanent. But Donny had, in the past, sold a boy here or there, to the highest bidder. But those had always been the trouble makers. The criers. The ones Donny didn’t see the use in keeping. Jason had worked hard to make sure Donny never saw that in him. 

He wanted that future. He wanted college. A job. _Adulthood._ All the things orphans from crime alley could barely dream of. 

“Oh, I don’t know if I’m interested,” the man said, as the curtain between the two rooms lifted, and the man ducked under it, Donny following close behind. 

And it was immensely clear why Donny had been so uptight about this one. 

Because standing just inside the room was Bruce Fucking Wayne. 

Gotham’s richest asshole. 

_Great._

The uber rich were always the freakiest men. The absolute _worst_ clients. 

Not that many of his clients saw him as a _person,_ but the super rich acted like he were an _object,_ there to abuse however they wished. 

It was basically a fact now. Jason’s next 24-hours were going to be the things his nightmares were made of. 

Maybe, at least, Donny would give him a few days off after. A week, maybe, if Wayne paid well enough, and Donny felt bad enough. 

Which, sometimes happened. When Jason needed the break, like he probably would.

“Oh, you _really_ weren’t kidding,” Wayne said, his sharp blue eyes scanning Jason, like he were some fucking puzzle. 

It was a step up from how usually he was looked at like a piece of meat. A play thing. A show dog. But it wasn’t _much_ of a step up. 

“Just ten-years-old,” Donny said, “I heard you liked young. Pretty blue eyes, too. Just wait until you see them in the daylight.” 

“Yes,” Wayne said, a little tightly. 

Ah. So he was one of the self-conscious ones. That…

Wasn’t so bad. 

Meant he wouldn’t be too bold. 

Probably wouldn’t invite friends over, either. 

Donny crossed the room and got behind Jason, putting his hands on each of Jason’s shoulders, squeezing just a _little_ too tightly. Jason smiled, to cover up his grimace, and tried to look as _ten_ as he could. 

Even though he was twelve. And about to turn thirteen, in two short months. 

“Give him a shot,” Donny said, pushing Jason toward Wayne so harshly, Jason stumbled. He quickly righted his balance, and looked back at Donny, before he reluctantly crossed the room to Wayne. “I know you’ve had the same kid for about ten years, so it’s hard to move on, but this one is worth it.” 

Oh. Jason didn’t know _that._

So maybe he _was_ bold. 

Something dark passed over Waynes face, so quickly Jason questioned whether it’d actually been there, before he turned his gaze down on Jason. His eyes were cold. Cold and calculating. 

Jason’s heart hammered so hard, he could feel it in his throat when he swallowed. He finished approaching Wayne, despite his nerves, and forced a smile on his face as he pressed himself close, within inches. Donny was standing right there, so he reached up, to put a hand on Wayne’s thigh, just like Donny wanted him to do.

 _Entice_ the client. 

Even though clients that weren’t already giving him flirty eyes rarely reacted well to advances from Jason. Those types usually wanted Jason to wait, until they were alone. _Donny_ didn’t get that, though. Because _Donny_ had never done the work. 

Just made them all do it…

Wayne shifted his weight, just enough, that he dodged Jason’s hand. He clenched one fist, and placed his other hand on the top of Jason’s head, and gently pushed Jason backward, so Jason took a step back away from Wayne.

And Jason could breathe a sigh of relief. If he _did,_ Donny would beat the shit out of him for _fucking this up,_ so instead he kept the smile on his face, and only internally thanked everything he could think of that Wayne wasn’t interested. 

Before Jason could finish that thought, however, Wayne opened his mouth and asked, “How much?” 

So much for that. 

“One hundred an hour, or two thousand a day,” Donny said, and Jason could just hear the grin in his voice. If he turned around, he was fairly certain he’d see the dollar signs in the bastard’s eyes. 

Wayne pulled a whole roll of cash out of his pocket and tossed it over to Donny, asking, “How much will that get me,” his eyes not leaving Jason the whole time. 

Those same calculating eyes. Jason could tell he was making grand plans inside his head, and Jason _didn’t_ want to know. He'd find out soon enough.

“The week,” Donny said, and all hope of time off vanished from Jason. 

What the _fuck_ was a week going to entail? Some of Jason’s worst days of his life was because some asshole bought 24 or 48 hours of his life. But _a whole week?_

Jason suppressed a shiver, as Wayne smiled lightly and said, “Perfect. Are we good, then?” 

“Yes, sir. Bring him back here same time next week. It’s a pleasure doing business with you.” 

Wayne set a hand on Jason’s back, and lightly pushed him out the door, and through the maze of tables in the main restaurant. None of the patrons paid them any attention, and somehow no one heard the hammering of his heart. 

There was no way Wayne couldn’t feel it, though. 

Especially since he murmured, “It’s all right,” as he pat on Jason’s back a couple times, just as they left the restaurant through the front door, “I’m not going to hurt you, lad.” 

“Of course not,” Jason said, forcing a smile again, making his tense body relax again. There was no room to be nervous. This was fine. 

It was _fine._

Nothing he couldn’t handle. Nothing he couldn’t do.

Wayne sighed, and removed his hand from Jason’s back, as he sped up his gait and led Jason down the road and around the block, toward some parking. He stopped, abruptly, next to a Tesla, and Jason didn’t have the headspace to admire the car like he wanted. He’d never seen a Tesla so up close, and had certainly never been _inside_ one. 

But his whole body wanted to start shaking, so he was dedicating all of himself to _not_ letting that happen. 

“Come on,” Wayne said, as he opened the back door and motioned for Jason to climb in. _At least he’s not shoving you in the trunk,_ Jason told himself, as he slid in. Wayne leaned over the door, sticking his head inside the car, and said very gently, “Really, lad. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe now.” 

“Yeah,” Jason said, nodding. He didn’t know what game they were playing, but he could play along, “Of course. It’s fine. I’m totally used to it.” 

“It’s not fine,” Wayne said, hanging his head as he pressed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, “It’s wrong. You’ll never have to do anything like that ever again. I _promise.”_

Weird thing to promise, Jason thought. 

Unless Wayne meant Jason never had to get sold again. Which meant he was just kidnapping Jason and keeping him. 

Which… 

Heh. Donny wasn’t going to allow _that._

Wayne would wake up _dead_ if he kept Jason for a single day more than he paid. 

At least Jason could count on Donny for that. Donny was ruthlessly protective of his boys.

With another sigh, Wayne stood up and shut the door, then took his sweet time rounding the car to the driver’s seat. In fact, he didn’t get in the car. Instead, he leaned up against the driver’s door, and pulled a cell phone out of his coat pocket. 

Calling his friends, no doubt. 

So much for a shy, self-conscious dude. 

Jason wrapped his arms around his stomach, and tried to think happy thoughts. 

The next week was gonna _suck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. Thanks for reading. I have a few chapters done... If people actually wanna read this story I'll keep working on it. :)


	2. Chapter 2

Wayne took his sweet ass time on the phone, his baritone barely filtering in through the Tesla’s thick windows. All Jason could hear was the notes, none of the words, no matter how hard he strained his ears. 

Once upon a time, the rich sound would have lulled him to sleep. The sound of his dad speaking, sitting in the next room over. Everything calm. Everything safe. At least for the time being. 

But nothing was calm and nothing was safe. Hadn’t been in years, and wouldn’t be for years more. 

Jason ran his hand across the faux leather seat next to him. The cool fabric helping with his clammy hands more than his pant-leg had done. Stupid polyester slacks Donny made him wear. 

The whole car was helping, actually. A pleasant new-car smell. Cool air, despite the summer heat outside, and the sun beating down through the windshield. Jason closed his eyes and tried to enjoy the moment, knowing that it would likely be another week until he had another peaceful moment like that. 

The card door clicked open, allowing the street noise to penetrate the quiet calm of the car. But Jason did not open his eyes. Not until Wayne cleared his throat and asked, “Kid, what’s your name?”

The fuck did he care? Jason wondered. He’d never understand why clients ever even wanted one. Jason always thought it would be like naming a chicken you were raising. Once you named it, you couldn’t kill it, right? 

Well. Wayne probably wouldn’t be killing Jason, so maybe it was a bad analogy. 

“Peter,” he said, closing his eyes back as he sank backward into the seat. 

That, apparently, was not a sufficient answer for Wayne, because he then asked, “Last name?” 

_No one_ had _ever_ asked for his last name. That really was getting them into the chicken-analogy territory. Last names implied he was someone’s son, and most of his clients _were_ fathers. He always thought it made them a little uncomfortable, to compare Jason or the other kids too closely to their own. 

Once his clients heard “Peter,” they immediately started calling him “Pete” or “Petey” and went on with whatever it was they wanted. 

Jason scowled. What the fuck did it matter what his last name was? What was it to Wayne? He was a means to an end, not a new acquaintance. Jason would be perfectly fine if he never saw Wayne again after this week. 

Perfectly fine. 

Wayne waited patiently, still standing outside the car. Or, well, Jason was choosing to believe it was patiently, because he hadn’t opened his eyes back up. But Wayne clearly still wanted an answer, so Jason said, “Parker,” with a slight smirk on his face. 

“You expect me to buy that?” Wayne said dryly, and Jason’s smirk turned into a grin. 

“Why not, you’re rich aren’t you? You can buy anything.” 

“Okay,” Wayne said, in an almost _amused_ tone. Jason was pretty sure he could hear a _smile_ in his voice. 

Cool. So Wayne liked back talk. Jason could definitely work with this. 

“Apparently he’s Spiderman,” Wayne paused, and with the door open, Jason could now hear the murmur of his phone. But, again, no words. Jason opened his eyes, and saw Wayne staring off into the distance as he listened. Nodded. “Sure. Will do. See you in a few.” 

With that, Wayne pressed ‘end call’ and slipped the phone back into his coat pocket, then, finally, slid into the driver’s seat.

Fun. So now they were going to wherever his friends were. 

Jason swallowed, and took a breath. No room for nerves. 

“You know,” he said, once Wayne started up the car by _pressing a button,_ so fucking cool, “It’s not cool to out a guy’s secret identity like that.” 

Wayne’s lip honest-to-God twitched, like he wanted to smile, but thought doing so was illegal, and looked back at Jason through the rearview mirror. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. What if, like, The Lizard was listening in on your phone call and heard that? Basically a death sentence.” 

“I don’t think The Lizard wants Spiderman dead,” Wayne said, “Aren’t they friends?”

“You can’t be friends with your villains,” Jason said, flatly, “That’s just asking for trouble.” 

“Hm. Suppose you’re right.” 

“So,” Jason asked, a moment later. He hated the silence. Silence meant thinking and thinking meant dwelling and there was no room for that. “Where’re we going, boss?”

Wayne scowled, slightly, but didn’t take his eyes off the road as he mumbled, “Don’t call me that.”

“What would you like me to call you, then?” Jason asked sweetly, grinning wide. Teasing was something he could do. “Handsome? Lots of guys like that one.”

“Just Bruce is fine,” he grumbled, “And I’m taking you to the police.”

What?

“ _What?_ ” he demanded, looking frantically at the door handle a few feet away. Curse him and his decision to sit in the middle seat. He’d need to scoot over discretely and get ready to bolt the second Wayne stopped the car. “No way, man. I ain’t going down for prostitution.” 

“Peter,” Wayne said, then shook his head and sighed, “Lad. Prostitution isn’t a crime a child can commit. It’s a crime committed _against_ a child.” 

Yeah _right._ He’d known lots of kids who got arrested for prostitution, and they were never seen again.

Jason was _not_ going to juvie. 

“Well, you’re the one who just _bought_ me,” he said, scowling, “So what, you’re turning yourself in?”

“I threw money at your handler so I could get you away from him,” Wayne said reasonably, as if that was a thing people actually _did._ A weeks worth of money had to be like, 10 grand at least, “Would you have preferred I let him take you back to who-knows-where and do who-knows-what to you because I refused to purchase your time?”

Donny woulda beat the shit out of him, had Wayne refused his advances, Jason knew that. But he’d rather take a beating than _go to juvie._ Or, even, spend a week with a rich freak. Donny would leave him in good enough shape to work, so it wouldn’t even be bad. 

Jason crossed his arms and sank into his chair. He needed to figure out how to unbuckle his seatbelt quietly and slip to the next seat over without Wayne noticing. Because if Wayne noticed, he’d probably lock the doors so Jason couldn’t open them. 

If they weren’t already child locked…

“Look,” Wayne said, through a sigh, “You’re just a kid. Don’t you want a life free from… all this? This work?” 

_Of course_ Jason wanted that. But it wasn’t _possible._ Leaving and living on his own would only result in harm. Not _death._ Kids didn’t get to be homeless free agents. And kids didn’t just get killed for running away. 

No. They’d either sell him to someone harsher, or just work him harder. 

Lock him up in a room somewhere so he couldn’t move, and send in men who liked the whole kidnapped, unwilling child thing…

Jason shivered. He’d heard the screams _that_ caused. He did _not_ want to be one of those kids. 

_Those_ kids didn’t make it to adulthood, and Jason was going to college one day. He refused to do anything that jeopardized that. 

“So you’re just gonna hand me over to the cops?” Jason asked incredulously, “Newsflash, dude, the cops are in on this shit. Three of my clients are part of the GCPD.” 

Wayne’s face soured, and he said, “That’s terrible.” 

“That’s _Gotham,”_ Jason countered, “But you should know. You’re here. With me. And it sounded to me like you’ve done this before.”

Why _else_ would Donny even try to pimp Jason to him? Bruce had bought a kid in the past and _kept him for ten years._

“The papers,” Wayne said testily, “suggested I took in a child for illicit purposes, when that was not the case at all. I fostered a child. Legitimately. That boy is like a son to me, and I have _never_ touched him. Nor would I ever _think_ about doing so. I sued every last publication for defamation and won _every single case.”_

 _“_ Yeah, okay,” Jason said, rolling his eyes, “So you have a kid you don’t touch, but here I am. So clearly—“

“Kid, I said I’m taking you to the police,” Wayne cut in, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Oh yeah? How do I know they’re _really_ police, huh? Maybe they’re just your friends and you’ve got a weird kink. Into handcuffs, huh?” 

Jason look a little pleasure in how Wayne spluttered.

“I—What?” Wayne stammered, “No. I’m _really_ taking you to the police.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Jason said flippantly, “If you wanted to tie me up, all you had to do was say so. It’s nothing new to me.” 

“That—Look,” Wayne tried, but Jason didn’t let him figure out what the hell he was even saying. 

“What’s the matter? Didya think you were my first? Rich _and_ naive, aren’t you?” 

He probably should not be getting so lippy with his client, if Wayne really _was_ a client and just playing some really weird-ass game with him, but part of him was starting to believe Wayne was being serious about the whole, police thing. And he wasn’t sure what the heck was about to happen, if so. 

“Okay,” Wayne said, his voice a little high. “Stop talking. Let’s listen to the radio, yeah?” Bruce reached over and started pressing buttons on the giant screen on the Tesla’s dash, and mumbled, “Listening to the radio sounds like a great plan to me.” 

Heh. Jason was embarrassing him.

“Yeah, okay,” Jason said, crossing his arms and smirking, a little, as the sound of _talk radio_ filled the car. Wayne really _was_ a freak. “Whatever you want, you’re the boss.” 

“No, I’m not.” 

Jason shrugged. “This is the weirdest foreplay ever, just so you’re aware. You’re officially the weirdest client ever.” 

Wayne looked almost pained, at that comment. Like someone had kicked his puppy, and he couldn’t do anything about it. Like he _was_ the kicked puppy. 

“What? Am I killing your mood? You aren’t giving me much to work with, here.” 

Also, Jason was almost 96% sure now that Wayne really _was_ taking him to the police. 

And probably wasn’t thinking about touching Jason. 

“That is not something a ten-year-old should say,” Wayne said, his frown deepening as something darker took over his face, “That is not something a ten-year-old should _know.”_

“Well good thing I’m twelve.” _Almost thirteen._

“Donny said…” Wayne said, a little dumbfounded, and Jason could not help his bark of laughter. 

“Donny Falcone lied to you?” he said, with a dramatic gasp, “I’m _shocked._ Absolutely shocked.” 

“Kid—“

“This is just, insane. I can’t believe a pimp would lie about his kid’s age.” 

“I get it,” Wayne said, looking at Jason through the mirror again.

Jason shot Wayne a flat look and said, “If you can’t tell, I’m being facetious.”

“I could tell.” 

“People like younger, so he tells them ten. I’m short enough I can pass for it.” 

Jason’s short stature both worked in his favor, and against it. The longer it took him to reach an adult height, the longer he’d have to keep doing this work. But at least it meant the mob would protect him, until he was old enough to make it on his own. Instead of being one of those 14-year-olds kicked out then, forced to figure it out before they could even work legitimately. 

Working corners was _not_ something he ever wanted to do. But sometimes that was the only option for those kids. 

Pretend they were adults, get an adult pimp, and work for real. 

With a heavy sigh, Wayne nodded, then asked, “How long have you been doing this?” 

“Since I was nine.” 

Wayne hesitated for a long moment, as he stared off at the traffic ahead of them. 

They were moving pretty slow, but weren’t at a complete stop. Jason could _probably_ use it as a chance to escape, but where exactly was he gonna go? Donny wouldn’t believe him if he said Wayne was taking him to the cops. 

“I’m sorry,” Wayne finally said, very softly after a full minute had passed, and Jason snapped his attention back to him.

“What?”

“That’s horrible,” he said, with a very slight rasp to his voice. He paused and cleared his throat, then continued on, “I’m sorry it’s happened to you. I’m sorry the state has failed you so significantly. I’m sorry people have allowed this to happen right under their noses. I’m sorry people have turned their heads and pretended to not see. I’m just—I’m sorry.”

Jason stayed sitting there, completely still. Staring at Wayne. 

Was— 

Did Wayne honestly think he had some role in the fact Jason was a child prostitute?

He felt guilty about it all?

Wayne was still staring straight ahead, at the cars in front of them, so Jason couldn’t look into his eyes and test his sincerity, but Jason kind of highly doubted he would have made such a speech if he were a lying bastard and just taking him to some kinky dress up party.

“You’re _really_ taking me to the police?” 

“Yes.” 

Okay. Now Jason scowled. “What do you think’s gonna happen, huh?” he demanded, “Half the cops are in the mobs’ pockets. They’ll say ‘oh thank you, Mr. Wayne, for rescuing this poor child,’ then they’ll say ‘yo this is one of Donny’s boys’ and pass me right back over to him. I’ll be working again tomorrow night.”

A double shift, too, just like Donny threatened. 

Although one good thing about all this was, Donny would probably stop trusting him with away-clients for a while. No more getting into strangers cars, going to who knew where to face who-knew-what. Jason could do without _that_ anxiety in his life, at least for a few months. 

“No,” Wayne said forcefully, as if by just saying it, he could making it so, “You won’t. I won’t let that happen.” 

Jason scoffed. “They’ll just kill you.” Honestly, Bruce Wayne was _nobody._ Just some rich playboy, would be easy to take a hit out on him. 

“They can try,” he said, the corner of his lip tugging up again, back into his weird smiles-are-illegal thing. 

“Naive and stupid,” Jason said, rolling his eyes as he sank back into the seat and closed his eyes, “Listen to your stupid radio. I’m gonna start crafting my speech to give Donny to maybe convince him not to beat me half to death over this. Or, at least, to leave my face alone.” Jason liked his face. And having all his teeth in his mouth, too. 

“I’m not taking you to ‘the cops,’ lad,” Wayne said, softly, “I’m taking you to Gordon.” 

Jason snapped his eyes open. “The commissioner?”

Wayne nodded. 

Oh. Jason sat up and tried to think. 

Gordon was one of the good cops. He was pretty sure. There had been _plenty_ of hit attempts on him, one of his clients told him one night, when he was drunk as a skunk and holding Jason close, telling him all his secrets. Jason had just closed his eyes tightly, and tried to think of something else. _Anything_ else.

He _hated_ it when the clients wanted to cuddle. It made him feel so slimy.

But Gordon was one of the good ones. And he knew who the bad ones were. 

“Yeah,” Wayne said, apparently reading Jason’s thoughts now, “He’s not going to let you end up in the mob’s hands, either.” 

Maybe not, but he couldn’t protect Jason forever. What were they gonna do with him? Keep him locked up in Gordon’s office, by his side at all times? 

“You know,” he said, trying to come up with an actual plan for escape. One that would probably work, “you’d be doing me more of a solid if you, like, I don’t know. Put me on a bus to Topeka.” 

“Topeka?” Wayne asked, one eyebrow raised. 

“Yeah. Or, I don’t care. Kalamazoo. Just some random midwest town in some podunk state without mobs running the social services. I can pretend to be an amnesic kid and they’ll give me a new name and a new family and everything.” 

Might actually work, now that Jason thought about it. 

It’d be difficult to keep his attitude in check for, like, ever, and keep them from finding out he knew exactly who he was and where he was from. 

But, then again, some midwest folks from a milquetoast state might know enough about Gotham to know not to ask Jason too many questions, and just play along with the whole amnesic thing. 

Wayne squashed his fantasy, though, when he opened his mouth and said, “But what about the other kids Donny has? How will running away help them?”

_Running away._

Bruce Wayne really was naive. 

“It’s every man for himself, in Gotham,” Jason grumbled, sinking back down into his seat, “I thought even the Richy Rich knew that.” 

“If we go to Gordon, we can help them, too. He’ll start an investigation. Get Batman in on it.” 

Jason scoffed. As if _Batman_ cared. 

Batman had been around for over a decade, and he hadn’t done one damn thing about anything real in Crime Alley. He focused on the Joker and the small, petty crimes like muggings. He looked the other way, when it came to most of the mob’s dealing.

“The entire damn Justice League,” Wayne continued, the fucking idealist, “if that’s what it takes, to take Donny down and every other human trafficker in this city, okay? You’re safe now, and we’re going to make all the other kids safe, too.”

“That’s your problem,” Jason said, finally earning eye contact from Bruce, now that they were sitting at a traffic light. 

“What?” 

“You’re a dreamer. An idealist. Open your eyes, dude. This is _Gotham._ You’ll never be able to fix it.” 

_Running away_ was the only real option anyone had. 

Jason was, sure as fuck, leaving Gotham the second he was able to. Leaving the east coast in general, and finding himself one of those nice, milquetoast towns where he could relax and be _safe._

That was the dream. 

Gotham was a hellhole. A cesspool that ate everyone up and crushed their spirit. Jason refused to let it do that to him, and he _definitely_ refused to feel any sort of loyalty or care to the city that had ruined so many lives. 

They’d all be better off if everyone left Gotham. Spread out across the country, and let the stupid city just _die._

The city didn’t deserve to be fixed.

“That doesn’t mean I’m not going to try,” Wayne said, seriously. And Jason just rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, okay. You keep dreaming, I’m going to work on that speech.” 

The light turned green, and Wayne sighed again. 

Gotham _was_ the mobs. That’s what people like Bruce Wayne didn’t understand. It _was_ Crime Alley, and all the crime, and all the poverty.

“You won’t need it,” Wayne said, softly, as the car started moving again, “I’m not letting anyone hurt you ever again.” 

“Sure,” Jason said, just to put an end to the conversation. 

This was _Gotham._

And Gotham was _hopeless._

Jason refused to let himself feel the hope of believing Bruce Wayne’s promise for even a second.

At least he wasn’t about to have a week from hell with Gotham’s richest men. He could let himself relax in _that_ knowledge. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next, we meet Gordon. :D


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce Wayne could see right through him, Jason was convinced. 

They parked a couple blocks away from the GCPD’s headquarters, and Jason learned very quickly that the Tesla’s doors were, indeed, child locked.

Because Wayne had to open the door to let Jason out. 

Then, when Jason tried to trail along behind Wayne, the bastard slowed down and ushered him along, with a hand hovering just behind his back. Jason fully expected Wayne to grab him, if he tried to bolt. 

And Wayne was a _big dude._ There was no way Jason could out run him or escape him. 

So. He was stuck. 

Walking down the street, toward the police headquarters. 

Fuck this was actually happening. Bruce Wayne was legitimately delivering him straight to the GCPD and if he didn’t get offed for squealing, everything was about to turn to hell. 

_Everything._

He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to convince Donny he hadn’t done anything. He’d done literally nothing. This was all Wayne’s fault. 

Donny _liked_ Jason, he was pretty sure. On some level. He was nice enough to Jason. Talked to him when it wasn’t necessary. Bought him things to keep him entertained during the day. And, really, he almost never hit Jason. Not really. Not beyond smacks on the head for mouthing off. Some of the other kids got it _all the time._

But Jason wasn’t sure Donny liked him enough to overlook _this._

This would be seen as a major betrayal. 

And it wasn’t even Jason’s fault. 

Crap. Jason was _not_ going to cry about this. He was too old to be crying about shit. 

“Lad,” Wayne said, his hand patting Jason on the back once, very gently. But then Wayne seemed to realize what he was doing, and he removed his hand quickly and put it in his pocket. He sighed, then said, “You don’t don’t need to be scared. I told you I was going to protect you.” 

Right. Because that fucking _mattered._

“And I told _you_ the mob was just gonna kill you,” Jason grumbled, “I don’t wanna get offed, too. I didn’t do _nothing.”_

He wanted to _grow up._ He hadn’t done this stupid job for over three years just to have some idealist freak decide to try to ‘save’ him and get him fucking killed in the process. 

_Or worse._

“They can try,” Wayne said again, and Jason found it no more amusing than he did before, “They won’t succeed.”

“You’re so fucking cocky.” 

“Lad—” Wayne started, but Jason cut him off.

“Why do you keep calling me that? It’s weird.” Who the fuck called kids ‘lad?’ That was so… 1900s. Jason saw that word used in old books. Lads and lassies. Where in the hell did a dude in the 21st century pick it up?

“I… don’t know,” Wayne admitted, “I guess it’s a word I heard a lot growing up, and I just… use it a lot now. I’ve never thought about it.”

Jason scrunched his nose up, as they stopped at the final intersection before the HQ, waiting for the light to change. 

Wayne looked down at him and asked, “What would you prefer I call you, then?”

“Nothing,” Jason said, stomping out into the street as soon as the sign turned to walk. Ready to get this over with. “I want you to call me nothing and never talk to me again. You’re ruining _everything.”_

With a sigh, Wayne caught up with him in just two long strides, then stepped ahead of Jason to open the door to the HQ building. When he motioned for Jason to walk through first, Jason scowled at him. 

But he didn’t have much of a choice. Because Wayne was huge. And now they were being watched by the security guard, who was sitting next to the metal detectors…

And fuck. 

_This was happening._

Passing through security was actually pretty easy. The officer made small talk with Wayne. _Mr. Wayne,_ while he emptied his pockets and took off his belt for the metal detector. He forgot about his cell phone, and had to go back through. _Twice._

Because the idiot had two phones on him. 

“Your turn, son,” the guard said, and Jason turned his glower on him. 

The guard wasn’t even fazed by it, though, because he raised an eyebrow and pointed toward an empty bin he pulled out. “Empty your pockets of everything metal.” 

“I don’t have anything,” Jason snapped, crossing his arms a little tighter. He kind of wished he _had_ brought something. 

A knife, maybe.

If he’d had a knife, maybe they wouldn’t let him in the building and then he could just go back to the house. 

Like Donny would’ve let him keep a knife… 

“Then go through the detector,” the guard said, a little challenge in his voice. Jason stomped over and held his arms up, just like the little picture showed, and waited for the machine to scan him. 

Wayne stood about five feet away, beyond the check point where he was collecting up his stuff. He wasn’t looking at Jason, but Jason felt like he was being watched _closely,_ anyway. 

Fuck him.

The machine beeped, and the screen showed Jason was free from metal. When the guard looked at the screen, Jason stuck his tongue out at him and went to join Wayne. 

“You carry around too much shit,” Jason said, while Wayne continued to pick up all his coins _one at a fucking time._ “Why the fuck do you need _two_ phones? You a drug dealer, or something?” 

“No,” Wayne said, laughing a little as he slipped his phones back into his pockets, “One is a personal cell, the other is for work. Makes it easier to leave the work one at home, so no one from work can bother me if I don’t want them to.” 

“Sounds like a drug dealer to me,” Jason said, crossing his arms again as they finally started walking forward, toward the front desk further down the hall. 

“And you don’t have _anything_ with you?” Wayne asked, instead of taking the bait, and Jason just scowled harder. 

“What, did you expect _I’d_ bring the condoms?”

Bruce Wayne was, officially, the dumbest idiot ever. 

Actually. Scratch that. Donny Falcone was the dumbest idiot ever, because he was stupid enough to try and hire Jason off to Bruce Wayne, a dude who clearly had never hired a whore once in his entire life. 

Because he clearly had _no idea_ how any of it worked. 

Why the _fuck_ would Jason bring things with him on a job?

Wayne’s face soured, however, at Jason’s comment, and he asked, “Do you have things that are yours back at… wherever you live?”

Yep. Wayne had no idea how anything worked. 

“At the house?” Jason said derisively, as he and Wayne got in line at the front desk. There was some old lady in front of them, arguing about some paperwork or whatever in her hand. “Yeah. I’ve got _stuff.”_

He had all the books Donny had got him over the years. His clothes, of course, but he didn’t care much for those. Most of them weren’t even comfortable, and weren’t _for_ him… 

But he had a picture of his mom. And the teddy bear she’d given him, when he was little… 

Donny probably wouldn’t have said anything, if he’d brought his bag with him. Cause, like, Jason probably _should_ have brought clothes and such considering he just got rented out for a whole _week,_ but Jason didn’t know it would be a week. 

And Donny probably didn’t know that, either. Otherwise he woulda packed Jason a bag, himself. 

But, also. Jason would _never_ trust anyone enough to bring his stuff with him. There was no telling what people would do to it. 

Destroy it? For the laughs? Just simply take it away and keep it? 

Use it…?

Jason tried not to be too attached to his _things,_ but he wasn’t sure how well he’d be able to handle that.

So yeah. Why the _fuck_ would Jason bring his stuff with him to a job?

“Okay,” Wayne said, gently, “I’ll figure that out, okay? I’ll make sure Gordon knows so someone goes and retrieves your things for you.” 

Yeah, sure. Jason wasn’t telling them where the house was, though. He liked his picture and bear, but he wasn’t stupid, either. If Wayne didn’t know where Donny’s house was, then Jason sure as fuck wasn’t going to be the one to rat him out.

Hopefully once Donny got him back, and Jason was going to _hope_ that was what happened, and he didn’t just get offed, Donny would let him keep it all. Or, at the most, simply take it away and make him earn it back. 

He could handle that. That would be okay. 

The old lady in front of them finally picked up all her papers and moved out of the way, so Wayne smiled and motioned for Jason to step up to the desk with him. 

“Ah, Mr. Wayne,” the cop lady behind the desk said, “The Commissioner is expecting you. Officer Pearce will take you.”

Jason looked to where the lady was pointing, over at a group of officers, and froze up a little. 

Because.

_Shit._

“Everything okay?” Wayne asked, bending over so his face was closer to Jason’s ear, and Jason resisted the urge to fucking smack him. 

Because _no._ Everything was _not_ okay.

He should have expected it. He’d _just_ told Wayne about how half the cops were in the mob’s pockets, but he hadn’t really expected to see one of his regulars in the building. 

Just… standing there. Chatting with Officer Pearce and a couple other cops. 

Jason didn’t know the client’s name. He’d never told Jason. But he’d never forget his stupid fucking face. Especially since the asshole came over almost every week. 

The asshole looked over, when the receptionist called to get Officer Pearson’s attention, and locked eyes with Jason, narrowing his eyes the second he did. 

Of _course_ he’d recognize Jason, too. 

Shit. 

Shit fuck shit fuck shit _fuck._

He thought he’d get a little bit more time before the mob found out where he was.

 _“Hey,”_ Wayne whispered, as he knelt down next to Jason and looked up at him, “What’s wrong? Do you recognize someone?”

Jason snapped his eyes to Wayne’s, and scowled. “What?” he asked, “No. What are you talking about?”

“Kid,” he said, but Jason shook his head, briefly, and forced himself to forget about it.

“What?” he asked evenly.

“You can _tell_ me. I said I was going to help you.”

“Right, sure,” he said, waiving his hand, making Wayne back up and stand back up, “And I believed every word you said. Thank you, Mr. Wayne. You have solved all crime by simply saying it won’t happen again.”

Officer Pearce motioned for them to follow him, so Wayne only sighed and turned to follow.

Wayne sighed a lot, Jason was starting to notice. 

They wasted no time going upstairs, and were led straight to Gordon’s office. No loitering or chit chat on the way. 

It didn’t help Jason’s nerves. 

He was back to wiping his hands off on his pants, and trying to control his breathing. 

“Gordon,” Wayne said gruffly, once they reached the commissioner’s office, and Jason could roll his eyes. 

Because Gordon replied with, “Wayne,” then looked down at Jason and pinched the bridge of his nose. “There is no way you’re keeping this out of the papers.” 

Was it wrong that thought made Jason smirk, a little? _Bruce Wayne hires 12-year-old whore,_ the papers would say. Bastard deserved the press, considering what he was doing to Jason’s life.

Although Wayne would be dead within the week, so it didn’t particularly matter. Probably getting a hit taken out on him would clear his name, too. 

The mob didn’t kill clients that paid, after all. 

“I don’t care,” Wayne said, seriously, “I wasn’t leaving him there.”

Gordon sighed, and led them into his office as he said, “I understand that, and I’m not saying you made the wrong choice. But what were you even doing at Marzoni’s?” 

Poor, stupid Bruce said, “I like their baked ziti,” and Jason outright snorted.

Dumb bastard. 

“I called you the very second I got the kid out of there,” he added. 

“The kid has a name,” Jason said. If they were gonna keep talking about him, they could at least pretend he was standing in the room with them.

Because he fucking _was._

And it was _his_ life they were ruining.

“The kid hasn’t told me it,” Wayne hummed.

“Sure I did.”

“Peter,” Gordon asked doubtfully, and oh. Wow. Wayne had been talking directly to the commissioner on the phone, hadn’t he?

How the fuck did Bruce Wayne have a direct line _to_ the commissioner?

Or, well. He was rich. He probably owned the commissioner. The rich owned most politicians, and shit. 

Was the commissioner a politician? Jason was pretty sure he was elected…

At least it was stupid, naive Bruce Wayne that owned the commish, and not the Falcones. 

“Yep,” Jason said, popping the ‘p’ as he did. When both men looked at him skeptically, he added, “I swear. It says ‘Peter’ on my birth certificate and everything.”

Didn’t he look like a Peter? All his clients bought it, just fine.

“What _else_ does your birth certificate say?” Gordon asked, and Jason grinned.

Smart guy.

“Oh lots of things, I’m sure. You know, like City of birth: Gotham. Eye color: blue. That sort of thing.”

“Son,” Gordon sighed. Jason couldn’t help how his face twitched, a little. What was with assholes calling him _that?_

Based on how Wayne looked like a kicked puppy, again, he was guessing Bruce fucking _noticed._

Fuck Bruce Wayne. Couldn’t he go away now? He’d handed Jason over to Gordon. Job done. 

Jason’s life _ruined._

“Either you can tell me your name,” Gordon said, “or I’m going to get your fingerprints and we’re going to run them against our database. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll take the name ‘Peter’ along with your approximate age and run it against the missing and exploited children’s list. I guarantee we’ll find your full name within the hour. So just tell us it.”

Fuck them. He’d forgotten Gordon was a real life detective and everything. Jason had his fingerprints taken when he was placed into foster care, back when his mom died. His record would pop up in seconds, he was sure.

But he was nothing if not a brat. 

“Screw you.”

All Wayne had to do, though, was cross his arms and raise an eyebrow at Jason, and he buckled.

“Fucking _fine,”_ he snapped, “it’s Jason _Peter_ Todd, you assholes.” 

_There._

“Thank you,” Gordon said, as he rounded his desk and started typing on his computer.

“Fuck you,” Jason replied, crossing his arms and scowling out the windows behind Gordon. 

Now they had his fucking name, and soon would know everything about him. 

The mob might already know he was up there. Bruce Wayne was gonna get offed _soon._ And there was no telling what would happen to Jason. 

If that stupid cop downstairs told Donny Jason had gone and ratted everyone else, Jason was _dead._

Not, like, physically dead, of course. Not right off. But he definitely wasn’t gonna be allowed as much freedom as he had before. And Jason wouldn’t be surprised if he got auctioned off and was never seen again. Ever.

But that all depended on where the fuck Gordon was gonna send him. Because if Gordon just put him into foster care, then it would be super easy for the mob to get him back. But if they put him into, like, witness protection? Then they might have to just off him. 

Either way, there was almost no chance Jason was going to be allowed to grow up and go to school, like he’d been working at for _years._

All because Bruce _Fucking_ Wayne looked at Jason like he was a stupid little puppy he had to rescue. 

“Jason,” Wayne said, softly, from where he was still standing a few feet away, and all Jason wanted to do was cry. 

He’d done so good at never telling clients his name. Donny knew his name, of course, but Donny never did shit to him, and he usually called him ‘Todd,’ anyway. 

And now, hearing the name he’d been so careful to protect coming out of a client’s mouth? He could definitely cry.

Even though Wayne _wasn’t_ a client. 

He wasn’t a client and he needed to go away, now. He’d given Jason to Gordon. Jason never wanted to see him again.

Bruce knelt down in front of Jason, just a couple feet away, and Jason felt like he was looking right through him. How the fuck could Wayne _do_ that? Jason felt worse than naked, like Wayne could see everything he was thinking and feeling. 

Jason scowled, and tried his best to make the desire to cry to _go away._

“Lad,” Bruce said, gently, “Tell me something I can do to help you feel a little safer.”

“ _Nothing,”_ Jason snapped, “I was _fine_ before you decided to go playing hero and make the mob think I’m a fucking squealer.”

“So you did see someone downstairs,” Wayne said, and that was _not_ what Jason meant to tell him.

“Fuck you,” Jason cried, reaching up to try and press the tears back into his eyes. And make them _stop._

But he didn’t want to block his vision entirely with his hands, where he couldn’t see what Bruce was doing, so he ended up just partially covering his eyes as he started crying harder. 

Fuck _everything._

He was _twelve_ and hadn’t cried in, like, two years. Probably. This was _stupid._

Bruce held one of his hands up, like he wanted to place it on Jason’s shoulder, but he faltered and shook it mid-air, before dropping it back down to his own knee. 

_Good._

Jason didn’t want his fucking comfort. He wanted him to _go away._

He was just making everything _worse._

But then Wayne said, “Come on,” as he stood and motioned for the chairs across from Gordon’s desk, “Come sit down.”

With no other option, Jason did as he was told and sat down in one of the arm chairs. He wiped his face clean with the hem of his shirt, and watched as Wayne filled a little paper cup with water from Gordon’s water cooler. 

“Here,” he said, as he passed it to Jason, “this will help.” 

Jason wasn’t sure why the fuck _water_ would make everything better, but he pulled his legs up on the chair and curled up, and started drinking the fucking water like a little baby.

Because, seriously.

Crying because one of his asshole regulars was downstairs and saw him going to a meeting with Gordon.

Maybe he wouldn’t even tell Donny. S’not like he could tell his coworkers ‘hey thats the whore I hire a couple times a month, I’ve gotta go warn his pimp’ anyway.

Right?

Although it didn’t really matter. 

The mob found out about everything. It was going to happen, regardless. 

Jason just hoped he could figure out a way that resulted in the least amount of things changing for him.

Because he wasn’t about to accept that he’d worked as hard as he did, and done everything he’d done for over _three years_ just to throw it all away like that. 

“You don’t have to worry, so much,” Wayne said, as he sat in the chair next to Jason’s, “You can trust me when I say I will not allow the Falcones to get their hands on you again.” 

Sure. 

Jason had no doubt Bruce meant that with all his heart. 

It was just too bad Jason knew the Falcones better than him. 

And now he was starting to feel a little bad for Wayne. And, if not for him, for his stupid fucking kid. Because his dumbass, idealistic dad had gone and gotten himself dead. 

And Jason in _so much_ trouble. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your comments! They're so encouraging 🥰 I'll go through and reply to the ones I haven't replied to yet tomorrow, most likely. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. ❤️


	4. Chapter 4

Wayne sat next to Jason for several minutes, while Jason nursed his water and tried to pretend none of it was happening. 

At least Wayne quit talking. Jason wasn’t sure he could handle Wayne talking more. He didn’t need to hear his useless promises.

Gordon spent that time on his computer, clicking through stuff and printing out some pages as he went. Jason was sure he’d pulled up Jason’s entire life on his screen and was now judging it all. 

“Okay,” Gordon eventually said, making Bruce look up from the phone he’d been texted on, casually, while Jason’s life continued to spiral down the drain. 

“Bruce,” he said, motioning for Bruce to follow him into the conference room, attached to Gordon’s office, and Jason just sank down into the chair further.

They weren’t even gonna include him in the conversation about his life. 

What _assholes._

“Be right back, kiddo,” Wayne said, and Jason rolled his eyes and kicked in his general direction, when he pat at the armrest near Jason’s legs. 

“You think I care?” 

At that point, Jason almost wished Wayne _had_ just brought him home and been a normal client. 

Jason watched idly as Gordon passed Bruce all the papers he’d printed out, mostly because the walls between Gordon’s office and the conference room were just glass. They’d shut the door, most the way, but the blinds were open. 

And Jason could hear, just fine, when Gordon sighed and said, “He’s supposed to be in state custody. The paperwork _says_ he’s in state custody.”

“Great custodians, the State of New Jersey,” Bruce grumbled, as he flipped through all the papers. 

What was even on all his papers? He didn’t have that much of a history. Junkie Mom. Jailbird Dad. Orphaned at nine.

Super short file, right? Jason hadn’t even been to real school in years, even before his mom died, so it wasn’t like Gordon could have a ton of school records. 

“Bruce,” Gordon sighed, “I know. I can only do so much.” 

Jason looked down at the empty cup in his hand, and started picking at the wax coating the lip. 

What did Gordon even care? What did _Wayne_ even care? 

It wasn’t like Jason was the only kid in the whole city that’d been picked up by the mobs. 

“So, he was forced into prostitution while a ward of the state,” Wayne said bluntly, “What do you plan on doing with him, now?” 

Yeah. What _did_ they plan on doing?

Jason wanted to know, so he knew which eventuality to plan for. Being offed, sold, or just beat up by Donny real good. 

“Send him home with you.” 

“What?” Bruce asked, echoing Jason’s thoughts exactly. 

Because. 

_What._

“No, I’m not equipped—“

“Yes,” Gordon cut in, “Your home is the safest spot for him. You _know_ who will be after him.” 

_No._ Jason agreed with Wayne. His home was _not_ the safest spot for Jason. 

The mob knew exactly who Bruce was and _knew_ he’d taken Jason. 

His home was probably the least safe spot in the entire _planet._

Sticking Jason in Wayne’s home was just making the mob’s job _easier,_ because they’d be able to off Wayne and take Jason all in the same job. Easy peasy. 

“You’ll just send an exploited and traumatized child home with a complete stranger?” Wayne asked, and Jason scowled. 

Why didn’t he come say that shit to his _face?_

“You aren’t a stranger,” Gordon responded, “Dick Grayson has graced my dinner table enough times I feel like I know you quite well. You raised a good kid, that one. I have no doubt your home is perfectly safe for another child.”

 _Dick_ Grayson?

Wayne huffed, and asked, “What if _I_ don’t want another child?” 

Why would a kid want to be his kid, if he named the first one _Dick._

Then again. Wayne did say he ‘fostered’ a child. So. Maybe the name wasn’t his fault. 

“You’ll turn that kid away and force me to put him back into state custody, where he’ll be kidnapped and punished for his escape attempt?” 

That was happening, regardless of where Gordon put him.

Jason kind of wanted to throw his cup at the door, when Wayne pinched the bridge of his nose and seemed to actually _think_ about it, then said, “I knew how to handle Dick. I _understood_ his trauma. This kid…”

“You don’t have to _understand_ a child’s trauma to take care of them” 

Fuck them _so hard._

He did not have _trauma_ anyone had to _understand._

What he had was a couple asshole adults trying to ‘fix’ is life and _ruining everything_ in the meantime. 

Outside Gordon’s office, Jason heard the elevator ding, and a group of voices piped up as the door opened. He peeked over the chair, to look, and didn’t recognize any of the cops who entered the floor and started chatting with a cop sitting at her desk out there. 

He wondered how many cops there were in the building. And how many were in the Falcone’s pockets. 

None of them seemed to notice him, sitting there. So at least there was that. 

But he’d rather not be kidnapped back, so he sank down further in the chair so he couldn’t be seen at all above the arms. 

“You could get him a therapist, you know,” Gordon said, regaining Jason’s attention, “Actually, I recommend that. If Gotham CPS actually did their damn _jobs…”_

One of the cops laughed, loudly, causing the other four to start up, and Jason could hear nothing but them. 

_“_ Shut up,” Jason mumbled, but of course. No one heard him.

Because he was invisible and being completely ignored. Like usual. 

A couple adults in another room planning out his night. His week. His _life_. 

And Jason had no say in it. 

“Jason,” Wayne said, Jason wasn’t sure how much later. He’d kind of zoned everything out, and just focused on slowly uncurling the lip on his cup, and then flatting out the entire cup until it was back into its original form: a disk of paper. 

Jason jumped, at Wayne’s voice, and looked up in time to see him pinch the bridge of his nose and take a deep breath.

“This is a terrible idea,” Wayne mumbled, then smiled and looked back at Jason, “The commissioner has suggested my home is the safest spot for you, for the moment.” 

“You know those walls are literally just glass, right?” Jason asked, as he sat up, so he was actually sitting on his bottom, “And I could hear everything you said?”

Not entirely true, but it wasn’t like it mattered.

He took pleasure in how Wayne looked at least a _little_ sorry he’d been talking so bluntly about Jason right in front of him. 

_Traumatized child._

Fuck him. 

“Jason,” Gordon said, and Jason turned to scowl at him, too, “Bruce here is a good man, and I’d trust him with my own kids. And have, in fact, trusted him to watch my kids in the past. You’ll be safe in his house.”

It wasn’t _Bruce_ Jason was super worried about. Who cared what _Bruce_ did. 

_The Falcones_ was who Jason was worried about. 

But Jason doubted they’d listen to him and just let him go back to Donny to beg for forgiveness, so he didn’t even bother protesting. 

“Uh huh,” Jason said, rolling his eyes, “I don’t have a choice, so whatever.” 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Wayne said, determinedly. 

Jason rolled his eyes. “I _believe you,_ okay? You wouldn’ta brought me to the commish if you were just gonna take me home and invite over all your closest friends for _fun time._ ” 

He supposed that could be _exactly_ what Wayne was planning. Just tell the commissioner all about Jason and the evil Donny Falcone that had pimped Jason out, then magically go home with his very own forever-kid to keep and a still-clean name in the papers.

But Jason doubted it.

No one would be _that_ stupid and fuck with the mobs like this.

Right?

Hopefully Wayne’s poor kid didn’t get caught up in all this.

“Look,” Jason said, when no one responded. Wayne looked mildly sick, actually, and Gordon had just clenched his teeth and taken a deep breath. “Whatever. Can we just get this over with and leave?”

Jason didn’t even care anymore. 

“All the paperwork you’ll need to review and sign will be waiting for you downstairs,” Gordon said, nodding once, “I’ll work on finding a social worker or two I can trust to start working on his case.” 

“Good luck with that,” Jason mumbled, as he stood from his chair and followed Bruce out of the office, and to the elevator. 

Now they were getting a social worker or two killed, too. 

Not that Jason cared about _them._

Or Wayne, honestly. 

It was just his stupid kid he felt bad for. 

Downstairs, Wayne had to talk to the cop lady at the desk for a long time, while he went through whatever paperwork he needed. Jason was fairly certain he was also flirting with the lady, which was major overcompensation if Jason had ever seen it. 

Jason wandered off, a little, while Wayne was busy, and started looking around at all the little brochures on a table not too far away.

Really, he was maybe ten feet away from Wayne. And, the floor was pretty empty, anyway, so Jason didn’t care. 

The brochures were kind of amusing, too. Who would go to the police station just to get a brochure labelled _Are you a victim of domestic abuse? We can help._

Those kinds of things should be at, like, apartment rental offices, or something. Pizza counters. Somewhere people _actually_ went. 

_Rehab is accessible to everyone,_ another brochure read, _If you’re ready for help, contact the Wayne Foundation._

Wayne Foundation?

Bruce Wayne really was a bleeding heart, wasn’t he?

That or _really_ compensating…

“Peter,” a familiar voice hissed behind him, making Jason jump and spin around. 

Where had his fucking client even _come_ from? He’d not been on the floor when Jason got down there. And Jason did not hear the elevator open. 

“What?” he asked, with a steadying breath. Like fuck was he gonna let this guy know he was _scared._

Because, obviously, Jason wasn’t. He didn’t even know the meaning of scared. 

The idiot didn’t say anything, just looked Jason up and down, so Jason rolled his eyes and asked, “Did you need something, officer?”

Officer Asshole narrowed his eyes, and asked, lowly, “What did you tell them?”

“Less than you’re telling them right now, you dumbass,” Jason snapped. 

Because, really. 

This guy was _stupid._

When all Officer Asshole did was scowl, Jason added, “I refused to tell them anything, but I bet ya Gordon’s watching right now. Sees you on the cameras talking to me. So good job, there.” 

Jason still wasn’t super excited about this asshole going and telling Donny Jason had met with Gordon. But…

The thought that Gordon might be ordering his detainment, that very moment? 

It gave Jason a sort of sick sense of victory. He _almost_ hoped Gordon _was_ watching the cameras, to see if he could figure out who Jason ‘had recognized.’ 

He had no idea if it would slow down the mob finding out, or not, but it was pretty fucking funny. 

Officer Asshole didn’t agree, though, because his scowl turned murderous, and he took a step closer to Jason.

There was no way Asshole could blame _Jason_ for this. This was _not_ Jason’s fault.

Jason mirrored the step, moving backward, but bumped right into the table. The brochure display wobbled, then fell to the ground behind the table in a loud crash, and Jason winced. 

All eyes turned to them, he could just _tell._ Even though there were only, like, five people lingering around. 

“Sorry about that,” Wayne said, appearing right in front of Jason in an instant, putting his massive body between Officer Asshole and Jason, even though there had only been a couple feet of space, “I was distracted by all this paperwork, wasn’t watching him.”

_What?_

Wayne knelt down, and started picking up the scattered brochures, and gave Jason a quick look. Jason was almost positive he was asking _are you okay?_

So Jason nodded. Slowly. 

He had no idea what was happening. Wayne had figured out what was going on, right? There was no way he was so oblivious _now_ that he couldn’t figure out who this guy was. 

Right?

“No trouble, Mr. Wayne,” Asshole said, taking a step back from Wayne, “I was just making sure he wasn’t lost or looking for help.” 

“That’s very kind of you Officer,” Wayne said, as he looked up at Asshole’s uniform and read his nametag, “Dawson.” 

Wayne finished gathering up all the brochures and set them on the table. He stood, then, and turned toward Jason, asking, “Ready, kiddo? I think I have everything we need, and I don’t know about you, but I’m _starving_ for some lunch.” 

“Yeah,” Jason said, in an exhale. Leaving would be good. 

Very, very good. 

Jason quickly followed Wayne out, allowing him to keep his body between Jason and _Dawson_ the entire time, so Dawson couldn’t even look at Jason. 

Once they were outside, and two blocks away from the HQ, Wayne finally cleared his throat and asked, “Who was that guy?”

Yeah. So he _wasn’t_ oblivious. 

Just… a very good actor…?

_What?_

Was _anything_ Wayne had said that day real? 

“No one.” 

“Jason,” Wayne said, and Jason scowled. 

He _still_ wasn’t going to rat anyone out. Even if he _did_ kind of want to see Officer Asshole get arrested. Just because the jerk deserved it, for being such an idiot. 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“Lad,” Wayne sighed.

And Jason’d had enough. “Stop talking to me.”

Wayne held the folder of paperwork in his hand, and smiled as he said, “Looks like you’re going to be living with me for a while. I don’t think I can honor that request.” 

_A while._

Right. 

More like maybe a week, tops. Even _if_ Wayne was just an actor and _had_ just made it ‘legal’ to have his very own Jason at home, available for whenever he wanted, the Falcones _still_ weren’t going to let him keep Jason. So it didn’t matter. 

“When we get home, I’m going to walk you through the security system,” Wayne said, as they reached Wayne’s car, “I’ll _show_ you why I’m confident the mob won’t be killing me any time soon.” 

Jason just rolled his eyes. 

“It protected my boy from the Court of Owls just fine,” Bruce said, as he opened the back door, for Jason to get in. When Jason slid in, Bruce leaned back over the door and said, “And, trust me, they are far more dangerous than the Falcones. The Falcones look like a middle school gang compared to _them.”_

_The Court of Owls was real?_

“Okay?” Wayne asked. Jason didn’t say anything immediately, so Bruce shut the door and rounded the car, this time getting into the driver’s seat immediately.

Jason still hadn’t figured out how to even _process_ what Wayne had just said.

He sounded _insane._

But… Wayne clearly was a good actor. And not nearly as oblivious as he pretended to be. 

And. If not from ignorance, he had to get his confidence from _somewhere._

“Your son was _targeted_ by the Court of Owls?” Jason finally asked, a little disbelief in his voice. Because. Just. _What?_ He thought they were just a nursery rhyme. They _were_ a nursery rhyme. A fairy tale, with a scary ending, like The Little Red Riding Hood. Or… or… the one with the old woman in the gingerbread house. Something there to scare kids into behaving. 

_Right?_

Wayne nodded, so seriously Jason couldn’t help but believe he was actually telling him the truth. 

So Jason scowled and asked, “What the fuck did you do to piss them off?” 

With a wide smile, Wayne said _,_ “I took in the kid they wanted to kidnap and turn into a talon. Ruined their grand plans.” 

He- what?

“So…” Jason said, slowly, “You make it a habit to take children away from criminal empires…” 

“I think twice is considered a coincidence,” Wayne said, as he started up the car and pulled out into traffic. 

Jason scoffed. “I don’t think you need to do it a third time to prove it’s a pattern when it’s _stealing children away from criminal empires.”_

Who _did_ that? 

How confident was Wayne _really_ that he felt completely comfortable just _doing_ this. 

Had he _targeted_ Donny, that morning? To do this? 

Was this just more part of his cover? Show the world ‘oh look, I saved this child,’ so people quit saying nasty things about him, meanwhile he’s got his own toy at home? All his?

“You’re a smart kid, you know that?” Wayne said, and Jason just grumbled. 

He kind of wished his brain quit thinking, sometimes. It was just exhausting, when all it made him do was worry about shit.

“My point was,” Wayne said, after a moment, “the Falcones won’t be killing me or taking you back _ever,_ got it?”

“Sure. I’ll believe it when it happens,” Jason sank back into his chair, and looked out the window. After a second, he added, “Or… doesn’t happen. I guess.” 

Just because Wayne could protect his kid from the _Court of Owls_ didn’t mean shit. Everyone thought they were _fake._ So that gave them a major advantage. 

The Falcones were so good they were _openly_ a thing. And still got away with everything. 

“I’m going to hold you to that, then,” Wayne said. 

“Yeah, whatever. Are you really gonna get me lunch, or did you just say that to get away?”

Wayne’s lip twitched, and he looked back at Jason through the mirror as he asked, “Are you hungry?” 

“Yeah.” Jason was _starving,_ actually. He hadn’t had anything to eat since dinner, the night before. 

And he’d had a long night, since then… 

Usually he got lunch around noon, when he woke up. But stupid Donny stupid waking him up early and not even feeding him, first. 

“Then sure,” Wayne said, as he turned onto the highway. The sign they passed said they were heading toward _Bristol,_ and Jason wasn’t sure if he should feel more or less relaxed about that. Being outside Gotham.

But Wayne asked him, “What would you like?” and Jason figured he could push it all out of his mind, for the moment, and try and convince Wayne to get him a burger. 

It’s not like he could do anything about _anything_ else happening, anyway. 


	5. Chapter 5

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Wayne smiled as he set the _kids meal_ down on the table in front of Jason, when Jason refused to take it from his hands. 

“You wanted a double cheeseburger, right? That’s what I got you.” 

“But a _kids_ meal?” Jason demanded.

“Remind me again how old you are?” 

That didn’t mean _anything_. He was almost _thirteen._ Way too old to be eating _kids meals._

He hadn’t had a kids meal in _years,_ anyway. Not since he was, like, _five._

What the fuck was Wayne _pulling?_

“If you’re still hungry after that, I can get you something else.” 

“That’s not the point,” Jason snapped, but he sat up on his knees, a little more, so he could open the box and look inside. 

There was a double cheeseburger, just as promised. And also some french fries, _apple slices,_ and, worst of all…a toy. 

Jason pulled the toy out and scowled at it. 

“You have to finish your food before you can open the toy,” Wayne said. 

But when Jason looked up at him, he could see the amusement dancing in his eyes, so he said, “Fuck you,” and opened the toy right then. 

Apparently that was exactly what Wayne expected him to do, because his eyes crinkled further in amusement as he ate a fry, then asked, “What’d you get?”

“Legos,” Jason answered, watching as the little plastic pieces scattered across the table, falling out after Jason had so haphazardly ripped the bag open. 

Whoops.

Wayne threw a hand out, catching a few pieces from tumbling off the edge of the table. “I see that,” he said, as he pushed them all up into a little pile in the middle, “but what do they build?”

How the fuck was Jason supposed to know that? 

“Oh,” he said, once he looked back down at the little papers that fell out of the bag, too, “I guess it builds… a car? Like,” he squinted at the paper, and tried to make sense of the symbols on it, “A Superman car?”

“Does Superman even have a car?” Wayne asked, holding his hand out for the paper in Jason’s hand. 

Jason shrugged, and passed it over. While Wayne was scrutinizing the instruction booklet, Jason pulled out his burger and unwrapped it, and couldn’t help the growl his stomach made in anticipation. 

“When was the last time you ate?” Wayne asked, as he tossed the instructions on top of the lego pile. 

“Last night.”

“Hm,” he hummed, “well. I promise to feed you breakfast, tomorrow.”

“Downright gentlemanly of you,” Jason said. It wasn’t like he cared. He usually slept through breakfast, anyway. Just ate a snack later in the day to make up for it. Like most of the other boys.

Jason took a bite of his burger, and wanted to cry with how good it was. Which was dumb. Because it was just McDonald’s. 

But Jason was hungry and it was good. 

Bruce sighed, and turned his focus to opening his own burger.

“You sigh a lot. Maybe you should see a doctor, if breathing is that hard.” 

Wayne ignored him, and pointed at the pile of legos. “You going to build your Superman car?” 

“No,” Jason said, through a mouth full of burger. Three bites in and he was down to half a burger. How sad.

“You took all the legos out,” Wayne said, “I think you have to build it.” 

Jason opened his mouth to answer, but paused and watched in horror as Wayne proceeded to open up a plastic fork and knife and... eat? his burger? with a _fork_?

“What the hell are you doing,” he asked. Because. _What_?

“I’m eating lunch,” Wayne said, as if there was absolutely nothing wrong with what he was doing. 

“I was right. You _are_ a freak.” 

Wayne did his little smiles are illegal thing, again, which was weird. Cause Jason had seen him actually smile and even grin several times, by then. But his smiles-are-illegal smile seemed to light up his whole face, and Jason wondered which was the acting. 

If any of it _wasn’t_ acting. 

“I’m just saying,” Bruce said, “building your lego car could be fun.”

“Yeah, okay,” Jason scoffed. He pulled his fries out of his box and dumped them out onto his empty burger wrapper. He thought for a second, and went ahead and got the apple slices out too. 

They were obviously packaged for little kids, but there was a package of caramel sauce to dip them in, so they would be forgiven. 

“I loved legos as a kid,” Wayne said, after they’d eaten in silence for a couple minutes and Jason was almost done with his food, “Dick did, too. We tried building a large scale model of Wayne Manor, once, several years back. But he lost interest and we never finished.”

Oh yeah. Wayne’s kid’s name was _Dick_. 

Jason’s distain for that fact must have shown on his face, because Wayne raised an eyebrow and asked, “What?” 

What did he mean _what?_ There was no way Wayne was this stupid. 

This.... inconsistently oblivious. 

“You adopted a kid named _Dick,”_ Jason said flatly, “and then got upset when the papers accused you of fucking him?” Hello? That was almost the obvious conclusion. 

Wayne’s eyes went wide, for a split second, before he said a little admonishingly, “We’re in public, could you watch your language?”

 _Jason_ should watch his language? “You’re the one with a kid named Dick,” Jason exclaimed, “besides there’s no one here.” 

They were, quite literally, alone in the back dining area they’d chosen to sit in.

With a sigh, Wayne explained, “His name is Richard. Historically, Dick is a very common nickname for Richard.” 

“Yeah, but _now_ it means—“ Jason started, but Wayne cut him off. 

“I _know_ what it means,” he said, almost snappishly, “But his parents gave him that name, and English was not their first language. I was not going to force him to change it, just because some people think of something _else_ first.” 

That…

Was fair. 

Dick didn’t let people ruin the name for him, just because they saw it as something different. Jason didn’t let people ruin the name his parents have given him, either. If a client ever called him _Jay,_ he’d probably start crying on the spot. Because they’d be ruining it. 

It was bad enough _Wayne_ knew his first name was Jason.

“Build your car,” Bruce prompted, pulling Jason back, “I want to see the finished product.” 

Jason forced a grin and asked, “What, are you the boss, now?”

Putting the car together at least sounded like a good distraction, so Jason went ahead and pulled all the little legos toward him and opened up the instruction booklet to figure out how to do it.

It really wasn’t difficult, not that Jason expected it to be. Sure, he _was_ a kid, but happy meals were meant for, like, four year olds, and Jason was definitely not four. 

But, still, he got a little stuck when, on the final step, he couldn’t find the piece the little booklet said he needed. 

“It’s under your wrapper,” Wayne said, flicking at the edge of his burger wrapper, which he still had spread out on the table in front of him, like a plate. 

Jason grabbed the wrapper, where Wayne was pointing, and sure, enough, there it was. A little two peg brick in bright blue. When he retrieved the brick, however, his accidentally flipped the wrapper toward him too far, and knocked his cup of ketchup over.

Right onto his shirt. 

“Aw, man,” he whined, looking down at the red gloop now decorating the front of his nice, white polo shirt. 

His ‘very expensive,’ in Donny’s words, name brand polo shirt. That Donny got all uptight about keeping clean, whenever one of them wore it or the other ‘designer’ clothes. 

Wayne held out a napkin for Jason to take, so he did, grumbling, “Donny’s gonna kill— oh.”

Maybe that didn’t matter, anymore. “I guess Donny’s gonna kill me anyway.” 

“No,” Wayne said, slightly exasperated, “he’s not. And it’s just a little ketchup, it’ll come out.” 

“Easy for you to say,” Jason grumbled. Wayne probably had _people_ to remove stains and shit from his clothes. Jason didn’t. He just had Donny. There was a girl who came and did their laundry, but there was no way Jason would be able to corner her and beg her to fix the shirt, without telling Donny. 

But, again, it didn’t matter anymore. Because he was probably getting offed. Or sold. The least of Donny’s gripes with him was going to be the ketchup on his shirt.

Jason finished dabbing as much of the ketchup off as he could, and dropped the napkin into his empty happy meal box. Then he looked up and noticed Wayne just _staring_ at him.

Like a fucking creep.

But, not, like. An _actual_ creep. Just someone who was super lost and confused.

“What?” he demanded.

“You,” Wayne said slowly, “don’t have any clothes.” 

Hadn’t they already covered the fact Jason didn’t have any _stuff_ with him? Was Wayne, like, having aneurysms, or something? Dementia? 

His fucking intelligence seemed to come in and out in spats.

_Or he was a magnificent actor. Lying about everything._

Wayne sighed again, and clarified, “You didn’t have any clothes for this week.”

Yeah. Jason fucking _got_ that. “If you wanted me to wear clothes, you should have told Donny,” Jason scoffed, rolling his eyes as he picked up the rest of his trash off the table and shoved it in his box. He went ahead and added the instruction booklet to the trash, now that his car was finished.

Jason closed up his box, and pushed his car forward, a little, to make it roll over toward Wayne before he finally looked up at him. 

Bruce had covered his eyes. And was just sitting there. With his hands on his eyes. Being quiet. 

Did… he break? Jason wasn’t sure what was happening. 

“Um,” Jason stammered, “You okay, boss?”

Wayne huffed, then nodded as he sat back up and said, “Yes. Okay. We’re going to…” he looked at his watch, then out the windows behind Jason, “Target.” 

“Target?” Why the fuck?

Nodding, Wayne asked, “Target has clothes, right?”

“Yes?”

“Okay,” he said, as he stood and picked up the tray and put Jason’s trash box on it, “then Target.”

What was even the point? Jason wasn’t going to be with Wayne long enough to need clothes. 

Unless Wayne had other ideas… Jason still wasn’t even sure. What was real.

But he refrained from reminding Wayne his death was imminent, and _definitely_ refrained from asking what the fuck Wayne wanted to do with him, and just stood to follow. 

It wasn’t like Wayne would give him straight answers, anyway.

“Don’t forget your toy,” Wayne said, and Jason just groaned. 

“I was hoping you’d forget about it.” 

Sure enough, Wayne took Jason across the street, to Target. 

It was actually pretty funny, because he looked incredibly lost when they walked inside, and he looked around for a moment before finally picking up a basket. 

Jason got the feeling Wayne never went shopping, for himself. 

Rich bastard probably had _people._

“Okay,” he said, when all Jason did was stand next to him, staring, “to the clothes. Do you need anything else? What else do you need?”

Nothing? Jason wanted to say. As long as Wayne, like, fed him, he really didn’t need anything. And since Jason was pretty sure Wayne would _not_ get to keep him for the full week, no matter how confident he was in his stupid ‘security system,’ he definitely didn’t need anything.

And he really didn’t _want_ anything.

He hated when people _bought him_ shit. Cause it always came at a cost. And _fuck_ that. 

Jason was not going to be in Wayne’s debt, as much as humanly possible. No matter how much he claimed he ‘wasn’t’ going to ‘hurt’ him. 

_Because it wasn’t like no one had ever said those words before._

Donny never even let them keep the shit people bought them, either. So it _very_ wasn’t worth it.

Wayne sighed, when Jason didn’t respond, and said, “Okay. Fine. We’ll just get clothes for now, and figure everything else out later.” Under his breath, he added, “Alfred can figure everything else out,” and Jason decided not to ask who _Alfred_ was. 

_Friends_ was not a topic Jason wanted to broach. 

At the boys’ clothing section, Wayne held out an arm, motioning at all the clothes, and said, “Okay. Pick some stuff out and try it on, I guess.” 

“Want me to put on a fashion show for you?” Jason asked, forcing a little smirk. 

“No,” Wayne said, forcefully, “Just pick something out.” 

“I don’t even know what you want,” Jason protested. Pick _what_ out? What kind of clothes? For what purpose? What was he going to be _doing?_ There were _tons_ of types of clothes.

“It’s not,” Bruce said, then stopped abruptly, letting out a quiet growl. He turned around, so his back was to Jason for a second, and Jason watched as he clenched his fist tight. 

Jason took a step back. 

Why the fuck was Wayne getting mad at him? _He_ was the one being annoying. He wasn’t being _clear._

But Wayne shook his hand, then turned back around, and offered Jason a semi-calm face. “Look. I want _you_ to pick out clothes _you_ like that _you_ will feel comfortable wearing without taking into account the feelings or thoughts of _anyone_ else. Got it?” 

No. 

But Jason nodded, anyway. 

If it kept Wayne from flipping his shit on him, Jason would just pick random shit. Maybe if he picked the _wrong_ things, Wayne would correct it. 

Right?

Jason wandered around the clothes section, trying to ignore how Wayne’s attention didn’t leave him, even if Wayne stayed standing off to the side. And was pretending to look down at his phone. 

Wayne said _comfortable,_ so that’s what Jason looked for. His current clothes were a little on the tight side, so he found a pair of jeans and t-shirt that looked like they’d be looser. 

Donny had picked his current outfit out, because it looked like the shit rich kids wore. Just slacks and a polo. Which Jason appreciated, in a way, because at least it was normal looking, but Jason wasn’t a fan of either slacks _or_ polos. He way preferred jeans and hoodies. Just. Baggy, and engulfing him. 

He wasn’t sure Wayne would be cool with a hoody… 

There was a reason Donny picked out tight clothes for him… 

Jason took a breath, and tried to refocus on picking out clothes. He found a couple more shirts, and two pairs of shorts. Which meant he had three full outfits. 

Three was good, right? 

Jason dropped the clothes into his basket and stood there, expecting Wayne to, like, review and approve everything. Or something.

He didn’t. 

Instead, he asked, “That’s it?” and Jason huffed. 

“Do I need more? You only got me for a week, dude.” 

“I don’t know how long you’ll be _living_ with me,” Bruce stressed, “but it will most certainly be longer than a week.” 

_No it wouldn’t._

A week was the absolute _longest._ Because even _if_ Donny didn’t find out about what Wayne did, reporting him to the cops, when Wayne didn’t show up at 11am at Marzoni’s with Jason in tow, the mob was paying Bruce a visit. 

Wayne sighed. “Investigations take a while, lad. And that’s after Donny’s been arrested, which hasn’t happened yet.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Jason said, with a snort. _Arrested._ Hilarious. 

Officer Asshole might get arrested. But there was no way Gordon was gonna even _find_ Donny, and if he did, there was no way he’d get enough evidence to actually _arrest_ him. 

“He’ll have a trial,” Wayne said, apparently still living in his ideal world where everything was gumdrops and roses. 

“And sentencing,” he pressed on, “And appeals, most likely. It’ll be a couple _years._ And I don’t know if Gordon intends on having you be in my custody that entire time, or if he’s going to find other protective custody for you, but I can promise that you’ll be with me for _longer_ than a week.” 

_Years._

Jason laughed. Wayne was _delusional._

It might have worked with his first kid, but there was no way in fuck it was going to work with Jason. 

“Look,” Wayne said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Just pick out three more day outfits, and then a few pairs of pajamas and we’ll call it done, okay?” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Jason mumbled. He could _do as asked,_ just fine.

He just wished he had a better idea of what the _fuck_ was going on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the awesome comments. I'm going to try to actually keep up with answering them and do that tomorrow, I hope. 💕 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Jason was back to wiping his hands on his slacks, as he and Wayne approached _Wayne Manor._

His fucking house was called a _Manor._

Nothing good ever came from places with fancy names like _manor_ or _estate._ Fucking pretentious, lawless places Jason would rather stay far, far away from.

And it didn’t help, at all, when they approached his property and there was an immediate gate. An _iron_ gate, that attached to a huge fence, that surrounded the property.

It might not hold people out, who _really_ wanted to get in, but it meant that it was private. Very, very private. And literally _anything_ could go on inside. And everyone on the outside world would be none the wiser.

As Wayne turned onto the drive, and came to a stop right in front of the gate, Jason took a quiet breath in, and let it out slowly.

Everything was fine.

He could handle whatever was happening. He _could._

And when the mob finally found him, and offed Wayne, he could beg them not to off him, too. Because Wayne had kidnapped him. And it wasn’t his fault.

_Right?_

“Okay,” Wayne said, once the car came to a complete stop, “So this is the only entrance onto the estate.” He rolled down the window, and started typing a _long_ code into the keypad. “I have to enter my code, and everyone with an access code has a different one, so the computer knows who should be entering.”

Jason nodded, and watched as the little keypad lit up with a green light. Just above the keypad was a little sliding door, that then moved to reveal a scanner of some sort.

“And now it wants my retina scan,” he said, as he took off his sunglasses and leaned a little outside the car, “so it can confirm it’s me. Everyone has to do this if they unlock the gate by themselves. We make guests buzz in and let a person admit them onto the grounds.”

“Okay,” Jason said, nodding a little. That was… neat, he supposed.

But, again. Fence. It wouldn’t, really, keep anyone out who wanted in. Fences were easy enough to scale.

The keypad lit up, again, and a little computer voice said, “Welcome home, Mr. Wayne,” as the gate started to open.

“And now it will let us on the grounds. The fence here,” Wayne said, starting to move the car forward even as he pointed at the fence, “has a sort of force field on it that prevents people and larger animals from crossing onto the property. It allows things like squirrels through, though.”

“How does it do that?” Jason asked, because that sounded _awfully_ advanced. Jason kind of wondered if someone had _told_ Wayne that was what it did, and charged him like a zillion dollars for it, but really it was just an electric fence. Or something.

“It’s a new technology that Wayne Tech is experimenting with. It uses a lot of cameras and sensors to track people and things that get close to the estate, and everything _on_ the estate. Then it activates the field when something we don’t want in attempts to cross the property line.”

Did it also prevent people from _leaving_ the property?

Why else would it track people already on the property…

Could Wayne just program it to not let Jason ever cross the property line? And then it didn’t matter if the mob got him?

But, no… how would the mob even get in, then? They’d have to disable it. That was, if it actually worked the way Wayne said it worked.

Which it probably didn’t. Because if this technology existed, the mob would have been using it already.

“I can show you the interface, if you want,” Wayne said, looking back at Jason through the mirror, “that way you can see how well it keeps track of everything.”

Jason shrugged. He didn’t _really_ care. It was just good to know he was being monitored at all times…

And there were cameras. Recording things…

He took another slow, deep breath. Everything was fine. They weren’t even inside, yet.

Because the drive way up to Wayne manor lasted _forever._ It took, like, two whole minutes to reach the actual Manor.

Which was _insane._

Wayne kept babbling on, trying his best to convince Jason the mob could never get him.

“The computer already knows we’ve entered the grounds,” he said, “but it’s keeping track and made note of the fact I have an extra person with me. If someone else used their code to get in, and they entered the grounds with more than just themselves, I would get an alert on my phone or tablet letting me know about it. We know long before anyone reaches the Manor how many guests they’ve brought.”

“That’s cool,” Jason said, looking down at the lego car in his hands. He’d been spinning the wheels, on and off, the entire ride ‘home’ from Target. Just as something to distract himself. It made a _vroom_ sound, whenever he spun it fast.

“Then here’s the garage,” Wayne said, as they slowly down near it. The door was already opening before they approached, and Jason hadn’t even seen him press a button. Which was another neat thing, he supposed.

“There are cameras on every entrance, so we always know who’s gone inside, and how.”

“Are there cameras inside?” Jason asked, as he unbuckled his seat belt and slid over. Wayne had parked, and now Jason was just waiting for him to get out and let Jason out.

Plus, it was important to know if every single thing he did was being _watched,_ too. And not just his movement tracked.

“In some areas,” Wayne admitted, “On all the outside doors, and all the public places, like the ballroom. But not in the bedrooms or private family areas.”

Oh. That was good.

He _hated_ when clients recorded shit. It was even _worse_ when they made Jason _watch_ it. He didn’t want to watch it. He just wanted them to finish whatever they were doing and _go away._

“You have a ballroom?” Jason asked, after a beat, “Like, for fancy dances or whatever?”

“Yes,” Wayne said, as he got out of the car and finally opened Jason’s door for him, “we host parties every once in a while. There’s an annual Gala for sure, then often we’ll do several other events throughout the year.”

 _Great,_ he thought. So even if the mob _couldn’t_ get through Wayne’s security and take Jason back and off Wayne, they’d be able to infiltrate during one of the public events. Especially since so many of the rich people are in the mobs pockets…

Jason wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.

Wayne grabbed the target bags from the trunk, then led Jason through the garage and to a door he assumed led to the main house. Jason was a little distracted by trying to admire the four cars they passed, on their way.

One was a Lamborghini, and Jason kinda wanted to stop and admire it for an hour, first. It was bright red and _amazing._

“So, as you can see,” Wayne said, making Jason stop drooling over the car to refocus on the fact that Bruce Fucking Wayne was leading him into his fucking super private house, “we have a lot of security that prevents anyone from sneaking up on us. Even _if_ someone managed to breach the perimeter and get to the Manor, we would have had a several minute warning and that is plenty of time to retreat to the panic room.”

“You have a panic room?” Jason asked, grimacing a little. He didn’t like the sound of that.

“Of course, I’ll show you later.”

Jason took a deep breath, as Wayne opened the door and motioned for him to go through.

Panic rooms were fine.

Everything was fine.

He was already going to be alone with Wayne in a giant manor. It didn’t really make a difference if he got stuck with him in a tiny room that could obviously be locked so only certain people could open it.

It was fine.

Jason had dealt with that sort of thing before.

He could do it. He could do anything.

Wayne led him through the maze that was, apparently, Wayne Manor. The entire Manor was decorated quite well. Fancy looking rugs with expensive looking art and shit on the walls. On one wall, though, there was a picture that probably wasn’t worth anything. Because it was actually just a picture of Wayne and a little kid.

 _Dick,_ Jason assumed.

And _Dick_ looked an _awfully_ lot like Jason.

Like. It wasn’t enough that they would be mistaken for each other, Jason thought, but they were eerily similar.

Same black hair. Same blue eyes. Same stature…

Wayne had a type and Donny had picked _Jason_ because of that, hadn’t he?

It took all of Jason’s self control not to stop in his tracks right there.

Because Donny had pegged Wayne exactly right, hadn’t he? And he’d picked _Jason_ because he knew _Jason_ was Wayne’s type.

Had he been lying, too? When he said he couldn’t part with Jason permanently…?

Jason hadn’t done anything to piss Donny off, he was pretty sure. Yeah, he mouthed off sometimes, but Donny never got too mad about that.

But, then again. Bruce Wayne was probably willing to pay a boatload of money for a kid that fit his criteria. And Donny was never one to turn down money…

“So,” Jason said, trying to keep his voice even and aloof. He was fine. Friendly. He was _super fucking friendly._ “Is your kid here?”

“Dick?” Wayne asked, and Jason wondered if he had more than one kid, “No. He doesn’t live here anymore. He moved out earlier this month.”

Oh.

“So, it’s just you and me,” Jason said.

Shit, Jason was right. Bruce was a gigantic liar, and was setting everything up so he could have his own replacement kid.

His kid left, and he had no one there anymore… and he liked having a boy just _there._ Available _._ And _all_ his.

And.

He’d taken Dick away from a criminal empire. And thought he could do the same again.

The public would laud him as a hero, meanwhile Wayne was just as bad as all the other rich guys in town.

 _Donny would have sold him Jason,_ he was almost certain, now. Had he just offered…

“No,” Wayne said, leading Jason through one last doorway, into what appeared to be the kitchen, “Alfred should be here.”

“Who’s,” Jason started, just to be interrupted by an old guy.

“Indeed I am, Master Bruce.”

_Master._

Fuck.

 _Master_ Bruce.

Like fucking _hell_ was Jason going to say that. Wayne would have to beat that into him.

Wayne smiled as he placed the Target bags up on the counter. “Hey Alfred, this is Jason.”

Alfred, apparently, was an old dude. In his 60s, maybe. Or 70s? He was wearing a fancy ass suit, and was currently rolling out dough for what appeared to be dinner rolls.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, young sir,” Alfred said, offering Jason a warm smile, “I’m afraid Master Bruce did not give me much warning of your arrival, so I have not had time to prepare your room yet.”

“Um, that’s okay,” Jason mumbled. He didn’t expect he needed his own room.

Unless Alfred just meant the place he would keep his clothes…

Also _why was this guy calling him sir??_

He was staff. Jason knew how to deal with staff. At least the mob’s staff. Lackeys. _People._

None of them could boss him around, usually. Because they worked for Donny, and Jason worked for Donny. But they didn’t particularly like Jason, either. Or any of the other boys.

Some, like Joe from Marzoni’s, were nice enough. Shelled out good advice and smiled politely. Maybe even vented at Jason, told him the straight shit. But _none_ of them ever acted _at all_ like they owed Jason anything.

Jason was nothing to them.

Why was Alfred acting any different?

Then again, Wayne was still in the room with them. Perhaps that would change, if Alfred was ever alone with Jason.

“You okay, lad?” Bruce asked, “You’re being awfully quiet.”

“Yeah, boss,” Jason said, forcing a sweet smile onto his face. He hadn’t meant to, like, drop the act or anything. _Shit._ “I’m great.”

He needed to pull it together.

Everything was _fine._

Wayne didn’t seem to buy it, because he frowned and opened his mouth, like he were going to ask _are you sure?_ Or something else, but then Alfred interrupted.

“You’ve gone to Target,” he asked, looking through the bags Wayne had put on the counter.

“Jason needed clothes,” Wayne said, nodding.

Alfred raised an eyebrow and asked, “So _you_ went to Target?” And Jason got the overwhelming feeling that he was _right._ Bruce _never_ did his own shopping.

“Was that bad?” Wayne asked.

“No, sir. I am merely surprised. I did not believe you knew where Target was.”

He _was_ right!! Wayne was useless, wasn’t he? Jason’s smile morphed into one of actual amusement, then, as he climbed up on one of the barstools at the island.

“Of course I know where Target is, Alfred,” Wayne said, but he looked at Jason and offered a tiny smile of his own in response.

Alfred just raised his other eyebrow, clearly not believing Wayne at all. “What did you purchase the young master?”

_Young master??_

Fuck no, Jason was _not_ being called that. Before he could protest, though, Wayne answered Alfred with, “He picked out some day and night clothes,” like Jason weren’t even in the room.

“What about socks?” Alfred asked.

Wayne’s eyes widened a little because, no, Jason did not pick out socks.

“Underwear?” Alfred pressed, “Shoes? What about a toothbrush, Master Bruce? Did you let the lad pick out his own shampoo and soap?”

“No,” Wayne admitted, a little dejected.

They were just gonna keep talking about him like he wasn’t there, weren’t they? _Great._ Jason loved it when he was nothing more than a piece of furniture, in the room, waiting for someone to need to use him.

He was, of course, being sarcastic. But he also didn’t want to find out what happened if he made Wayne angry again, in a private place where he could turn around and use his fist against Jason, so he kept his mouth shut, and just placed his lego car up on the counter and rolled it forward, into the shopping bags.

Wayne turned and looked at him, then smiled when Jason looked up and met his eyes.

Fucking creep.

“Hm,” Alfred hummed, as he, too, turned toward Jason, “Master Jason, I will be happy to do a run for you. Do you have any particular scents you are partial to? Or a preferred toothpaste?”

A what?

Why would anyone have a _preferred_ toothpaste? Just buy the cheapest thing, that was what Jason’s mom always did. And he was almost entirely certain that was how Donny ran things, too.

And, why the fuck was he asking _Jason?_ Jason didn’t really care what he smelled like, as long as it was _clean._ So, really, Alfred should just ask Bruce what he wanted. That would make life easier for everyone, Jason included.

Because he did not want to deal with Bruce being mad his hair smelled like strawberries, when he hated strawberries, or whatever.

Both men kept staring at Jason, actually waiting for him to answer, so he shrugged and said, “Whatever Bruce prefers is fine.”

That was the wrong answer, apparently. Because Bruce sighed, loudly, and covered his face with his hands rather dramatically.

“I assure you,” Alfred said, “Master Bruce’s opinion holds no weight when it comes to your personal hygiene products.”

“But,” Jason protested, “if he doesn’t like it, then…” he trailed off, when Bruce turned around and balled his hand into a fist, again, and set it down on the counter. His back was to Jason, now, but Jason was certain he was about to blow a fuse.

And Jason wasn’t even sure what he was doing to cause it. Earlier Wayne was smiling and laughing at Jason’s back talk, but now he was getting all pissed just at basic statements.

“Then?” Alfred prodded, gently, _much_ more calm than Bruce was.

Jason merely shrugged, though. Because he wasn’t sure if Alfred _knew_ what Wayne had kids for.

Although he doubted Alfred could live in the house and _not_ know.

But, even so, Jason didn’t really want to explain about how he’d had clients in the past flip their shit because Jason used some _fruity_ smelling shampoo, and they ‘couldn’t handle’ the scent. Ever since, if he went to away-visits with clients, he just let them pick whatever he used. It made life so much more pleasant, not having to deal with an angry and violent man for however long he was stuck with them.

“I really don’t have a preference,” Jason settled on saying, because it wasn’t untrue.

Wayne took another second, and lightly thumped his fist down on the counter a couple times, before turning back around and offering Jason a semi-calm face. “For now,” he said, “we can just get him some surplus stuff we have laying around and bring him to the store another time. I don’t want him leaving the estate until at least Donny Falcone is behind bars.”

Jason resisted the urge to roll his eyes. But he was done reminding Wayne that Donny wasn’t going to be arrested. And the mob was gonna off him.

Plus, he hadn’t been expecting Wayne would let him off the estate, anyway. What would be the point in that? Pay all that money and go through so much trouble of explaining how the security system wouldn’t let anyone in or out, just to give Jason chances to escape by going back to Target?

His security system might work exactly as described, but the mob could just get Wayne when _he_ left the property. Then, who knew what would happen to Jason. The State would probably take custody again, and Jason would be handed right back over.

“Very well then,” Alfred said, as he picked up the Target bags.

“Alf,” Wayne said, before Alfred could say anything else, “Could you take Jason for a while, and help him get settled? I’ve got a lot of work I need to do.”

“Certainly, sir.”

Wayne grabbed a bottle of fancy, rich people water from his fridge, then crossed the kitchen, stopping right next to Jason. “You go get settled in, kiddo. We’ll talk more later, okay?”

“Yeah.” He wasn’t sure what they would talk about, or it Wayne actually meant _talk,_ and not something else, but he had to admit it was a little nice Wayne hadn’t just dragged Jason right up to his bedroom the moment they got ‘home.’

Confusing, too.

But if Wayne thought he had Jason _forever._

Or… until Jason grew up and was too old to be of interest… then he probably was in no rush.

Which was fine. Jason was _definitely_ in no rush.

In fact, the longer Wayne put it off, the better. Because then maybe it would _never_ happen before the mob got him back. And _this_ could be his break, that he had been hoping Donny would give him.

“Shall we go pick you a room,” Alfred asked, giving Jason another smile.

Jason nodded, and returned the smile with a little more ease, now that Wayne was gone. “Yeah, sure.”

He knew, for a fact, whatever happened once the Falcones got him back was going to be _hell._ Even if they didn’t off him or sell him. Nothing was going to be pleasant, and maybe not for a _long time._

So he might as well enjoy the slow, peacefulness of _now_ while he could.

Because now wasn’t so bad. Even if he still had no idea what was going on.


	7. Chapter 7

Alfred took a few more minutes to finish making the rolls, which were for dinner, apparently. He needed to roll them out and then let them rise in the dish, after he formed them. 

It was pretty cool to watch. 

Jason didn’t know bread had to ‘rise,’ and wondered what caused it to do so. But he didn’t really want to ask this Alfred guy. Because he wasn’t sure if Alfred would explain it to him. Alfred might be staff, but he didn’t owe Jason shit. 

But Alfred kept working on the rolls, so Jason rested his head in his hand, where he was still sitting at the island counter, and asked, “Are you the cook or something?” 

He really hated silence. 

Alfred smiled, as he continued forming the rolls and placing them in a casserole dish. “I am the family butler,” he said. 

“Oh.” Jason nodded, looking off away from Alfred. He didn’t know butlers like… existed. He thought they were just in books. 

That kind of explained the _master_ crap, though. He was pretty sure butlers called the people they work for _master_ or _miss_ or whatever. Like, master bedroom. Same word. 

It was still weird. 

“Yes,” Alfred said, still smiling as he worked, “My job is to take care of the Wayne family.” 

“So,” Jason said slowly, “just Bruce? He said his kid moved out.” Who else lived in the house?

“Master Dick did, indeed, leave a few weeks ago,” Alfred explained, as he placed the last roll in the dish. He picked up a towel and draped it over the dish, and moved the dish over to the top of the oven. 

Which was weird. Why did it need a towel?

“But he is still a member of this family,” Alfred continued, “And there is of course Master Bruce, who requires a lot.” 

Jason grinned. Wayne did seem pretty helpless when it came to normal stuff. “He doesn’t know how to shop.” 

“No,” Alfred said, with a sigh, as he grabbed another towel and started wiping down the counters, “I’m afraid he does not. As I said, he requires a lot.” Alfred continued cleaning for a moment, then he smiled and added, “And now there is you.” 

Jason shrugged, and shifted so his arms were crossed and his head was resting down in them, on the counter. 

“I”m not gonna be here long,” he mumbled, “You don’t gotta do anything for me.” 

“Nonetheless,” Alfred said, smiling softly, “I will still care for you as long as you are here.”

Poor Alfred. Hopefully the mob didn’t get him, too. Jason kind of hoped Wayne was right and his security wouldn’t let the mob in. 

That was nice of him, Jason supposed, to say he’d care for him. But maybe it was his job, and he was just getting paid to take care of Jason. 

And if Jason was the new Dick… 

Alfred finished wiping down the counters, then tossed the rag in the sink and washed his hands. Once he was done, he pat his hands dry on his apron, then asked, “Now then, shall we go pick out your room?”

“Sure,” Jason said, sitting up to hop down off the stool, “I guess.” 

It wasn’t like he had much of a choice. 

Kind of funny he was getting a room though. 

Jason shoved his hands deep into his pockets and followed Alfred through the maze of halls and up a set of carpeted stairs 

This house was _ridiculous._ Why did one dude need such a massive mansion? Or even three people? 

“This here is Master Bruce’s quarters,” Alfred said, as they passed a set of double doors and paused, briefly. He pointed at the door across the hall from them, and said, “and this is Master Dick’s.”

Figures it would be right across from Wayne’s. How often did Dick _actually_ sleep in there?

“Now we have a couple options,” Alfred said, turning to face Jason, “we have four extra rooms on this floor. There is one closer to the stairs, and three further down the hall.” 

Jason shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unsure how to respond. Did it matter where his room was? It wasn’t like _he_ was going to use it much.

Or even be there long.

“We can put you in the far room, all the way down the hall. You will not be disturbed by anyone in the hall, that way. Or you can choose the room close to the stairs, so you do not have to walk past other’s rooms. It is up to you.” 

What did that matter?

Although making _Wayne_ walk all the way down the hall to get him was pretty funny, if he thought about it. 

But that might piss Wayne off….

He’d already pissed Wayne off a lot, and he wasn’t even sure how. Doing something to _purposely_ piss him off would only end in disaster, he was sure. 

Alfred kept waiting for Jason’s answer, so he finally shrugged and mumbled, “I don’t care.” 

“Hm,” Alfred hummed, as he nodded for a moment, “Very well, then. How about we try the room at the end of the hall. If you do not like it for any reason, we can try another one. Sound fair?” 

“Sure?” Jason said. _Fair_ wasn’t quite a thing he cared about, but whatever. 

Absolutely nothing in his life had been fair up until that point, but that’s just how life was. _Life’s not fair, Jay,_ his dad always said. 

Jason followed after Alfred, to the door way at the end of the hall, on the same side of the hall as Wayne’s.

If _only_ Waynes room was on the other side of the hall wall, his room was _gigantic._

Not super surprising, considering the rest of the house. 

Alfred opened the door, and motioned for Jason to go inside. 

“This is a _bedroom?”_ Jason blurted out, before he could think better of it.

Because _damn._ The room was _huge_. 

Who on earth even thought about making a bedroom so huge? Why did a _bedroom_ need a couch, too??

Jason understood master bedrooms being gigantic, which explained Wayne’s room. He’d seen plenty of those before, but random extra bedrooms? Meant for kids?

The bed in the room was also gigantic. Jason didn’t know what each of the sizes were called, but his bed back with his mom had been just big enough for him, really. And the bed in Donny’s house had been similar. 

_This_ one, though, could easily fit several people in it. 

And… Jason didn’t want to think about that. 

“Is it to your liking?” Alfred asked, after he’d crossed the room and opened all three windows. 

“It’s… fine,” Jason eventually said. It was definitely _more_ than fine, and there had to be a catch.

“This over here is the bathroom,” Alfred said, opening up one of the two doors along the wall Jason _thought_ he shared with Wayne’s room. He was slightly relieved to know the door didn’t lead straight to Wayne’s room, but the fact the room had a bathroom?

A gigantic, horrible catch. Had to be.

Jason stepped back a little, back into the threshold to the room, while Alfred was in the bathroom, clicking on the lights and fans and doing whatever else he was doing to ‘get the room ready.’ 

There was no lock on the door, he observed. A little to his relief, if he had to be honest. 

Because a room like this… A room with a bathroom and sitting area and bed and _everything…_

It would be incredibly easy to lock him inside it. And never let him out again. 

Jason wrapped his arms around himself, and tried to keep calm. 

He was fine. 

Wayne wouldn’t do that. There was no way Wayne was lying _that_ badly. 

Why would he tell Gordon about Jason just to drag him home and lock him up for the rest of his life?

“There is a basic toiletry set in there,” Alfred said, as he exited the bathroom, “And clean towels and such in the linen closet, all are at your disposal.” 

Jason nodded absently, but didn’t fully pay attention to whatever else Alfred was doing, as he wafted around the room, opening up things and fluffing up pillows.

Everything was okay.

Wayne wasn’t lying that badly. 

Besides, he had the first kid. Whom he obviously let go. 

Which… which… 

Was good, right? Because it meant he’d probably let Jason go? If somehow the mob _didn’t_ kill him first?

Either the mob would get him back, and he’d do _anything_ to make sure he got the future Donny had promised him, or Wayne would get to keep him, and he’d do whatever it took to get Wayne to let him go, like he’d done with Dick. 

Yeah.

This was fine. Everything was… fine.

“Why don’t you take a seat, Master Jason,” Alfred said, walking over to Jason and holding a hand up behind Jason’s back, as if to push Jason along toward the nearest armchair.

He didn’t touch Jason, though, just waited patiently for Jason to start moving himself. 

“A penny for your thoughts?” Alfred said, once Jason had collapsed down in the armchair and curled up. 

His thoughts? Alfred didn’t want to know his thoughts. 

Especially if Alfred didn’t _know._

Alfred sighed, but much less dramatically as Wayne always did. His sigh was quiet, and far less annoyed. More defeated, maybe, and it made Jason look over at him as Alfred sat down on the armchair opposite him. 

“Perhaps if you share,” he said, “I could help alleviate your fears.” 

“I’m not scared,” Jason mumbled. Because he _wasn’t._

He was just… worried. And shouldn’t be. Because he couldn’t control one damn thing happening. All he could do was control his reactions to all the possibilities. 

“No,” Alfred said, humming a little, “I suppose you aren’t. But I am still happy to answer any questions you might have. Perhaps I can shed some light on any concerns you might have.” 

Jason sat there for a full minute, sifting through all the questions he might ask. Something as blunt as ‘so how often does Wayne like having _fun time?’_ probably would not go over well. 

Especially if Alfred didn’t know. 

What he eventually settled on was, “Why did Dick leave? Did he run away?”

Because if he _ran away,_ then Wayne would probably work harder on making sure Jason didn’t. 

“Oh, heavens no,” Alfred said, waving his hand a little, like the mere _thought_ Dick ran away was ridiculous, “He has left to attend college.” 

_College?_

Jason couldn’t help but pause, for a moment. Because— 

Dick went to _college._

Jason really hoped Jason was the same as Dick, to Wayne. For whatever that was. Because if the mob _didn’t_ take out Wayne, and Jason got stuck with Wayne permanently, at least, maybe, he could go to college one day, anyway.

_Right?????_

And, Dick going to college, meant either he _was_ really Wayne’s kid, _or_ Wayne worked hard to keep up the _appearance_ that Dick was his kid. 

Either way, Dick got to go to college. 

“He will likely return soon, to meet you,” Alfred added.

What? Why? 

That made no sense. Why would he care who Bruce picked up to replace him enough to want to _meet_ him? 

He should be relieved, Wayne had moved on and probably wouldn’t need him for _that_ anymore. 

“Well, he shouldn’t,” Jason mumbled.

If Jason ever got away, he’d _never_ come back. 

Unless…. Wayne was paying for his college. And he had no choice. 

_No._ He’d find a way to pay for his _own_ college. He wasn’t letting Wayne or anyone else buy him. 

“What was that, lad?” Alfred asked, still sitting calmly in his chair. He was a lot different from Wayne, in that regard. More subdued. Less commanding of everything around him. 

Jason didn’t feel quite so nervous around him. Because, somehow, he just knew Alfred wouldn’t do jackshit to him. 

“The mob,” Jason said, louder, “They aren’t gonna be happy Bruce stole me. Maybe Dick should stay away, so they don’t hurt him, too.” 

Alfred smiled, and said, “I don’t believe Master Dick will allow some thugs to intimidate him.”

“He gets that from Bruce, doesn’t he,” Jason said, rolling his eyes. The Falcones weren’t just _some thugs._ But whatever. 

“He and Master Bruce are a lot alike in that regard, yes.” 

“Well it’s gonna get them killed,” Jason muttered. But, again, it wasn’t like anyone was listening to Jason. 

He’d only been living with the mob for three years. What did _he_ know?

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, sir,” Alfred said, and Jason just rolled his eyes again, “Many have tried to kill Master Bruce. None have been successful.”

“Maybe,” Jason said sardonically, “if he didn’t pick fights with criminals, he wouldn’t be on hit lists.” 

It was gonna get Alfred killed, too. And Jason. And all of them. 

Jason just wanted none of this to be happening. He’d rather rewind time to that morning, and start screaming at Donny, or something. Provoke a beating and make Donny pick a _different_ boy to sell off to Wayne, since damaged goods rarely sold well. 

If there was ever a next time for this shit, that’s what he was going to do. Take the beating and avoid all _this._

The uncertainty about the future. 

“Regardless,” Alfred said, as he stood, “I doubt we need worry about the Falcones much longer. I have a strong feeling justice will be served swiftly for those particular men.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Jason said. They could all keep dreaming. 

“Now then, I will be making a shopping run. Do you have favorite colors or types of clothing I should purchase?” 

Since ‘whatever Bruce wants,’ was an unacceptable answer in this house, Jason just shrugged and tightened his arms around his body. “I don’t care.” 

He’d still like a hoody, or something big and baggy to curl up in. To cover himself with, but even Alfred would probably know that wasn’t acceptable. 

“All right, lad,” Alfred said softly, “and are you sure you do not have scent preferences? Perhaps an opinion on coconut or citrus?” 

With another half shrug, Jason sank down into the chair further. As long as it didn’t smell like shit, he didn’t care. 

Honestly. 

“That is fine,” Alfred said, “we will work on it.”

 _Work on it._ Sure. 

Whatever. 

“Now then, how about I give you a brief tour of the manor, first, so you may find something to occupy your time better than sitting here wallowing.” 

“I am not wallowing,” Jason protested, but did force himself to his feet to follow Alfred. 

Maybe if he found some place else to chill out for a while, he could take a nap without worrying whether Wayne was gonna try him out anytime soon. 

If Wayne couldn’t find him, he couldn’t get him. 

Alfred hummed, and led Jason down the hall. “Regardless, Master Bruce will be indisposed most the day, as he is most days, so it will be good to find you some entertainment options.” 

“‘Working,’” Jason asked, making air quotes with his hands, even though he was behind Alfred, and Alfred could not see him. 

“Yes, he does that a lot,” Alfred said. Either Alfred was ignoring Jason’s sarcasm, or he didn’t catch it. Whatever. “He is a fan of telework, and spends most his day in the study, working. You may interrupt him at any time, of course. Do not be shy.”

Yeah _right._ Like Jason would do that. 

He wasn’t stupid. 

“You may, of course, seek me out for anything you need, as well,” Alfred added, after they’d descended the stairs and turned in the opposite direction from the kitchen. 

At least, Jason was pretty sure they’d turned opposite from the kitchen. He’d need to, like, draw a map or something of this freaking castle. 

“Sure,” he said. Seeking Alfred out sounded less dangerous than seeking out Wayne, that was for sure. 

Especially if he was right, and Alfred wasn’t gonna do shit to him. 

Although, he’d thought there for a few minutes _Wayne_ wasn’t gonna do shit to him. But then it’d turned out Wayne was a magnificent liar. 

It wasn’t too out there, to think Alfred might be one, too…

“That door down there is the study,” Alfred said, pointing toward a closed door at the end of the hall, “and through these doors is the den, where we have most the entertainment options. Video games, board games, and the like. You are welcome to take anything you wish and move it to another room, if you’re more comfortable somewhere else.” 

“Sure,” Jason said again. He wasn’t sure where else would be _more comfortable._

Unless he had free rein of the entire manor. If so, then he’d go find some random ass corner that looked like no one ever went into, and hide there. 

Just as long as it Wayne wasn’t gonna, like, do something about that… 

Jason… didn’t really want to know what a big guy like him could do. What kind of damage he could inflict. 

“And, of course,” Alfred said, once Jason had walked into the den and started looking at the shelf full of games and puzzles, “You are more than welcome to explore the manor. If the door opens, you may enter.” 

“Okay,” he said. 

That sounded vaguely ominous. Were there locked rooms? There probably were, right?

But why were they locked? And what was Wayne hiding behind them? And from whom was he hiding it?

Jason, probably. If snatching Jason had been something he planned. 

Or _maybe_ it was stuff even Alfred didn’t know about. If Wayne did keep secrets from his butler. Like why he kidnapped little boys. 

“Now then, I must make a run to the store before I prepare dinner. Do you need anything before I leave?” 

“Uh, no,” Jason said, after a beat. 

“Very well. If you need anything while I’m away, you know where Master Bruce is.” 

“Yeah.” Although it wasn’t like Jason was gonna go barging into the study, being all like _Yo Bruce I need a juice box._

He wasn’t stupid. 

Exploring the manor, however…

That might be something worth doing. 

If only to find the potential hiding places, should he ever need one. 

And, considering how his day had gone so far, he’d probably need one… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~~~ I'm back from vacation and finally got this chapter finished. Hopefully I get back into the groove and headspace of this story. I know there's a few scenes coming up relatively quickly I've been stuck in for several days now. Can't wait to write them. :)
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting and everything else. I'm going to try to answer all the comments, I know I'm a couple chapters behind. I'm notoriously bad at answering comments, but I'm trying! ❤️ you guys.


	8. Chapter 8

Jason spent 20 minutes in the den, trying to ‘entertain himself’ with the various games there. 

The video game system, a Nintendo one, wasn’t super interesting. The game currently in the… the thing was _The Legend of Zelda_ and Jason had no idea what was going on. He’d never been that into video games, anyway. The house had a bunch of them, to keep the boys quiet, but Jason usually either watched the other boys playing them, or just ignored their existence all together, and spent all his free time reading or working through his workbooks. 

He’d explored the den rather thoroughly, and found no books anywhere, so he’d looked back through the board game and puzzles. But, again, nothing jumped out at him. 

So, he took to exploring. 

Mostly, he just tried to find the furthest away point from the study as he could. Which meant he discovered what must be the ballroom and several formal sitting rooms a fair distance from the ‘private family area.’ With big fancy chandeliers and absolutely _nothing_ of interest. 

Actually, there was tons of breakable looking stuff in those rooms, so he backed away and definitely stayed far away.

Cause he was not gonna break shit. No way. 

The Manor just kept growing larger and larger in his head, and he was almost positive it was _actually_ a castle, when he kept finding more staircases, and more halls, and more rooms. 

Like. A zillion rooms.

In the end, he found a small little room on the third floor, on the exact opposite side of the manor from the main living areas. 

Considering all the dust settled on the surfaces and the sheets covering the furniture, Jason was wiling to bet no one ever went up there. 

That was exactly what he wanted. 

Under a partially covered window, where old, dusty curtains with significant fading on them was letting a bit of sun into the room, Jason found a pretty comfortable couch. 

It was large enough he could lay down on it and spread out, one of his arms dangling off the edge of the couch, and the other draped across his face, blocking the sun out of his eyes. 

He tried to take a nap. That’s what he wanted the most, because he’d barely gotten any sleep the night before, and everything going on was just making him _so damn tired._

But his stupid brain wouldn’t _shut up._

His thoughts kept going in circles, driving him nuts, keeping him too wired and too worked up to do anything more than lay there. Staring at the crook of his elbow, trying not to get dizzy with the circles his mind was going in.

Around and around and around. 

He didn’t know what was going on, and it felt like every five minutes he learned something new that knocked him down and changed everything. Everything he knew and thought and was expecting to happen.

There were a few things he knew for sure:

The mob was going to be pissed, and if they didn’t know already, when they learned about it in a week’s time, at the absolute latest, they were going to go after Wayne.

Wayne kidnapped Jason from Donny, and told Gordon about it. 

This wasn’t the first time Wayne had done so.

The world thought Dick was Wayne’s _son._ And Wayne spoke about Dick as if he were his son. 

Donny, and a lot of journalists, thought Wayne just got Dick so he didn’t have to hire whores all the time. So he could have his very own boy, at home, permanently. 

Wayne denies that’s what happened.

But Donny was able to get Wayne to come meet Jason, and then he paid a lot of money to bring Jason home. 

Why else would he take Jason? What else did Jason know how to do? _Nothing._ He didn’t even know how to be a _son._

And Jason looked _just like_ Dick. That was too much of a coincidence for Jason to ignore. 

What _should_ happen next is the mob kills Wayne, and gets Jason back. 

But… 

Jason had a bad feeling that wasn’t going to happen. And Wayne and Dick and Alfred’s confidence that the Falcones were no one to be scared of might turn out to be true. 

For them. 

This time. 

Which meant Jason _would_ be with Wayne permanently. 

And… Would… would that be so bad?

So far Wayne had been pretty nice. Yeah, he’d gotten angry a couple times, but Jason could learn what his buttons were and avoid them. He’d done that well enough with Donny, after all.

Or his dad. When he was little… 

Otherwise, Wayne had been nice. Chatting with Jason. Buying him food. Clothes. Giving him a bedroom and his own bathroom. 

Then there was Alfred, who was super nice. If he didn’t turn out to be an actor, too, Jason thought he could really like Alfred. 

Especially if Alfred kept acting like he was an actual person. 

Wayne didn’t seem super interested in using Jason all the time, anyway. Not if he didn’t immediately drag Jason up to his bedroom. Or… study. Or wherever he did that shit. 

Which meant he might not even have to work nearly as much as he did for Donny. 

One guy, and maybe the occasional party. Just one dude most nights. And Jason stayed there permanently, with food and things to do. He probably could ask for books and stuff, too, and keep going with his education.

Hell. _Dick_ went to _college._

 _Maybe_ he could even convince Wayne to send him to _real_ school. He’d promise not to say a damned _word_ about _anything_. And he’d hold to that promise. Because it’s not like social services would be able to do jack shit about anything. 

He’d just end up back in the mob’s hands. 

Or sold.

Or dead. 

And right now, it looked like sticking with Wayne might be his best bet for college and adulthood and a _future._

If the mob didn’t get him… 

Around and around and around. No matter how many times he tried to make his brain stop, he just kept going in circles. 

Right up until someone knocked on the door, and Jason jumped, nearly tumbling off the couch. 

“Ah, there you are, lad,” Wayne said, as he opened the door and stuck his head in. 

_What the fuck._

He was, like, super out of the way. 

Jason pushed himself up to a sitting position, and watched in almost disbelief as Wayne stepped into the room, a tablet in his hands, and frowned.

“You okay?” Wayne asked. 

Was he _okay?_

Fuck _no._ But he wasn’t telling Wayne that. 

“I’m fine,” he said, taking breath and regaining himself. He had to act. He _wanted_ Wayne to want to keep him permanently. 

Right?

Yeah. Right. Because college. 

He really hoped this wasn’t a terrible mistake. 

“You sure,” Wayne asked, still frowning, “you look a little spooked.” 

Well _yeah._

“I’m just… surprised you found me,” he said, then mentally kicked himself. 

Way to just _tell_ Wayne he was hiding from him. 

“Oh,” he said, smiling a little as he turned the tablet in his hands toward Jason, so he could see the screen, “I couldn’t, so I looked and found you on the security system.” 

Jason stared at Wayne for half a second, before he scowled and looked down at the tablet’s screen. And sure enough, there was what appeared to be a map of the Manor, with two little dots in what had to be the room Jason had found, in the far corner of the Manor. 

“It—“ Jason started, then asked, a little shakily, “You can track me?” 

Fuck. 

“Well, yes,” Wayne said, clicking the tablet off as he rubbed at his jaw, “But I don’t check this unless I’ve already looked in the usual spots myself and can’t find someone. It just keeps people from needing to check over 100 rooms personally to announce dinner is ready.” 

“Oh,” Jason said. That was fine.

Made perfect sense.

No hiding spots in the Manor. No hiding _anywhere._

Everything _was fine._

“I—Okay,” Wayne said, in a serious tone, “I won’t use this anymore, okay? Unless it’s an emergency. We can get you a watch or something instead, and then you can keep track of time and know when to come down for meals. Okay?” 

Jason swallowed, and just shrugged. It was _fine._ He didn’t care. That's what he'd keep telling himself, at least.

Wayne… Wayne could track him whenever. That’s fine. It wasn’t like he had a place to hide in Donny’s house, anyway. Why did he need a place to himself, now?

He didn’t. He was fine. 

“Does that sound fair?” 

_Fair._

What was their thing with that fucking word?

_Fair._

Nothing was ever fucking fair. And they needed to _quit_ so he could convince himself it was fine, anyway.

“I don't care,” Jason said, letting his annoyance cut into his words. 

Wayne could keep track of him, fine. Whatever.

So far Wayne hadn’t _complained_ Jason found some random ass room to nap in, so maybe everything really was fine. He’d keep exploring, and Wayne would just come get him when he needed him. 

Good. Fine. 

Perfectly _fair._

“Okay,” Wayne sighed, “Well. I came to get you for dinner. Alfred made pot roast. Do you like roast?” 

“Yeah,” Jason said, as he hopped up and came when Wayne motioned for him to follow, “That’s fine.” 

“Good, let’s go, then. I think you’ll like Alfred’s cooking.” 

Wayne led Jason down a staircase he definitely didn’t use to get up there, and through a far more direct path back over to the kitchen. The entire time, he walked a few steps away from him, and tried to keep up inane chit chat. 

“Do you have any favorite meals,” he asked, but Jason just shrugged.

“The kind that isn’t poisoned, I guess,” he said, after a beat. 

Wayne did his weird not-smile, and huffed a very quiet laugh, saying, “I don’t think you need to worry about that with Alfred. Me, maybe. I can burn water, _I_ wouldn’t even eat chicken I’ve prepared. But Alfred’s an expert.” 

“How do you burn water?” 

With a shrug, Wayne opened one last door, which led into the main hall the kitchen was located off, “I haven’t a clue. All I know is I tried to boil some water, and next thing I knew the smoke alarm was going off.” 

“No,” Alfred said loudly, from inside the kitchen, “What he _means_ to say is he did boil water, and left it sitting on the stove until all the water evaporated and the pot caught fire. That is why Master Bruce is no longer allowed to touch the stove.” 

“I got distracted,” Wayne said, and if Jason didn’t know better, he’d say Wayne was _whining._

How fucking old was Bruce Wayne? 

Like, thirty, right?

“Master Bruce, if you would, please set the table,” Alfred said, as he grabbed a pile of plates and silverware off the counter and handed it over. 

“Sure thing.” 

Jason watched, a little in awe, as Wayne just… did as he was told. And took the dishes into the dining room and started setting it all down on the table. 

Alfred could… tell Bruce what to do?

Wasn’t _Alfred_ the butler?

“Did you enjoy your expedition, lad?” Alfred asked, as he went back to putting all the food he’d prepared onto fancy dishes and then setting the dishes on a cart. 

He was scraping some green beans off a metal pan into a nice looking bowl, at the moment. 

Jason just shrugged. Because he _had_ kind of sort of enjoyed his exploring. Until he learned it didn’t matter and Wayne could find him no matter where he went. 

Alfred hummed, and set the bowl of green beans on the cart, then went about pulling the rolls apart and placing them inside another dish. This one with a towel inside. “I bought you quite a few new things this afternoon,” he said, “The clothes are in the wash, and I’ll bring them up to your room once they are folded.” 

“Cool,” Jason said, shoving his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to be doing, in the moment. But not freaking out about shit he couldn’t control sounded like the right answer. A second passed, and he added, “Thanks.” 

“All the other items I bought you are already in your room,” Alfred continued, placing the final roll in the bowl and flipping the edge of the towel over the rolls, “I will let you decide where you wish to store everything, so I left everything on either the bathroom counter or your dresser.”

“Okay, thanks,” he said again.

“My pleasure, lad. If you think of anything else you need, let me know. I will pick it up for you.” 

Jason nodded, and with that, Alfred ushered him off into the dinning room so they could eat dinner.

Or. Well. Wayne and Jason could eat dinner. 

Alone. 

Sitting, like, almost next to each other. Wayne sat at the end of the table, and Jason sat in the seat right to his right. 

It wasn’t quite as direct as it had been at lunch, but during lunch they’d been out in public. Now it was just them. 

Alone.

In the dining room.

Because once Alfred set the food out and helped them get everything they wanted on their plates, he _left._

“Alfred doesn’t eat with us?” he asked, stabbing at a piece of scalloped potato with his fork, trying his best to _not freak out._

The fuck was even wrong with him? He could be alone with Wayne, who cared. He had to get used to it, anyway.

“No,” Wayne said, with a sigh, “We’ve tried to convince him but he rarely sits with us. He sat with me when I was a boy, but quit when I went off to college.”

“Oh.” 

They ate in silence for another minute or so. Or, well, Wayne ate, while Jason tried to force a couple more bites into his mouth. 

It was hard. Since his stomach had flipped upside down for _no reason,_ the traitor. 

“Is there anything in particular you like to do for fun,” Wayne asked, after another minute. 

Jason looked up, from the fork full of roast beef he’d been working on convincing his stomach to accept, and stared. 

Then he forced on a grin and said, “Anything you like.” Acting was good. He could eat better, too, maybe. If he just pretended to be happy and friendly and everything. 

Yep. 

Wayne sighed, and Jason forced the bite of food into his mouth and started chewing. 

“I meant,” Wayne said, through his sigh, “in your free time. To entertain yourself.” 

Jason snorted, and managed to swallow his food without his stomach protesting. He picked up his roll, and hoped maybe he could get the whole thing down next. 

Because like _hell_ was he going to tell Wayne what he actually liked doing. Rule number one to doing this kind of work: Don’t let the clients know anything real and personal. 

They only ever used it against him. 

Apparently Wayne could read Jason’s mind, because he sighed _again,_ in a much more defeated tone, and said, “I can probably dig out Dick’s legos, if you liked your car. Dick had a lot of legos. I think he also had other building things like knex. Or the magnet ones? I forget what those were called. They’re all up in the attic.” 

“I haven’t played with legos since I was, like, five,” Jason said flatly. Which wasn’t entirely true, but he certainly hadn’t played with legos since he was nine, at least. Donny didn’t let them have toys like that. He got mad whenever they had little things they could leave around, where he could step on them or clients could see them.

Besides, he’d only built the car because Wayne told him to. 

“Hm,” Wayne said, “That’s fine. I’ll still pull it all down after dinner, in case you change your mind.” 

“Whatever you want, boss,” Jason said, before he kept eating. His stomach had completely given up on revolting, now. 

Mostly. 

Wayne sighed, _again,_ and mumbled, “I said you could call me ‘Bruce.’” 

Jason grinned. “You’re the boss, boss.” 

And, of course, all Wayne did was sigh _louder._

“Master Bruce,” Alfred chastised, as he pushed through the swinging door between the kitchen and dining room, with a giant vase thing full of water in his hands. Carafe was the word his brain supplied, but he couldn’t figure out why he even knew that word. Or if it was the right one.

If he had his dictionary he could have looked it up, but of course it was still at Donny’s… 

“There is no place for that attitude at the dinner table,” Alfred continued, as he filled Jason’s half empty water cup back up. 

The way Bruce looked like a scolded little child at Alfred’s words made Jason grin for real, then quickly hide his grin with another bite of green beans. 

Alfred could boss Wayne around. 

This was… absolutely the best. 

He wasn’t sure what the fuck it _was._ Or what it meant about Alfred. But whatever it was, it kept Wayne quiet for the rest of dinner. 

Jason didn’t like the silence, but he liked it better than listening to Wayne try to convince him he was a nice guy by talking about _toys_ and _food_ and whatever the fuck else Wayne thought up. 

It also made eating even easier. Because Wayne wasn’t doing anything, and Alfred was actually just inside the kitchen. And Jason still couldn’t figure out if Alfred even _knew._

After dinner, Wayne disappeared. Maybe to go get the _legos_ he promised. Or maybe to go back to his study. Jason honestly had no idea, because Wayne hadn’t said anything more than, ‘I’ll be back in a bit,’ before he vanished. 

And Jason couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Well. He could. Because it was just making his insides more prickly. The longer Wayne ignored elephant in the room and made Jason keep guessing when it would happen. 

_Probably at night._ Although his away clients _never_ waited until it was night. But they usually only paid for a short amount of time, so it made sense for them. Wayne thought he had Jason forever. So maybe he would wait until night, when Jason was in bed. 

That would make sense. Kind of.

So in the meantime, Jason went back to ambling around the Manor, and decided maybe one of those puzzles would be worth his time.

Or, maybe, he could figure out the TV and find something to watch. If Wayne was rich, he might pay for cable. Or _satellite._ And then, maybe, Jason could watch something actually interesting, other than PBS or ABC or whatever else Donny’s shitty antenna picked up. 

_That_ sounded like the perfect distraction, to stop his mind from going around and around. Because there really was no use in going in circles, until he found out _exactly_ what Wayne wanted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last night, after I posted yesterday's chapter, I ended up outlining what I thought was gonna be this chapter and ended up being 2-3 chapters worth of thoughts and dialogue. Which is pretty exciting. I don't know if I'll get the next chapter fleshed out and done as quickly as I got this one, just because we're coming up on the weekend now and I've got to switch to my weekly project, but we'll see. 
> 
> Also work and stuff has me in actual meetings all day tomorrow. Remotely... because I'm in mandatory quarantine. 🙄 But whatever. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and everything!!! ❤️


	9. Chapter 9

Jason spent an hour after dinner watching TV. He’d found one channel playing a documentary about Ferrari's, and honestly it was the coolest thing ever. He could see himself watching a lot more TV if Wayne’s fancy satellite had more channels as cool as that one. 

“Master Jason?” Alfred said, near the end of the program he’d been watching, from the doorway behind the couch Jason was laying on.

He sat up, and peeked over the back of the couch to see Alfred standing there, his gloved hands clasped and a nice smile on his face.

“You don’t gotta call me that,” Jason said, returning his smile. He kind of _didn’t_ want to be called master. 

At all.

Like. _Ever._

Alfred just smiled a little more and said, “Nonsense, lad. Now, I’ve finished folding your new clothes and placed them in your room. Would you like me to put them away, or do you want to choose in which drawers everything goes?”

“I can do it,” Jason said. He didn’t need Alfred to do everything for him.

Really, Alfred didn’t have to do _anything_ for him, but Jason already liked him way more than Donny’s people. _Donny’s_ people rarely tried to make Jason feel welcome, like Alfred clearly was trying to do. 

“Of course,” Alfred said, “It’s all up in your room when you get a chance.” 

“Okay,” he said. Jason had a chance, then. All he was doing was watching TV, so he hopped up and started toward the door, then added on hastily, “Thanks.” 

With a nod, Alfred turned and started to leave the room, ahead of Jason, but paused when Jason asked, a little quickly, “Uh, do you know where Bruce is?” 

He didn’t care, really. Not… entirely. It would just be nice. To know where he was. 

In case he had to face him upstairs. 

What the fuck was _wrong_ with him? He needed to get _over_ this. 

“Last I checked,” Alfred said, once he turned around from half way down the hall, “he was poking around in the attic, looking for Master Richard’s old things.” 

He’d spent an hour up there? 

And what the hell was with his insistence, getting down all of Dick’s old toys? 

Well, obviously he wanted Jason to be just like Dick had been. 

“Oh,” he said, nodding, “Okay. Thanks.”

“My pleasure, lad. Let me know if you need anything else.” 

Jason trotted down the hall and up the stairs, quietly preparing himself, just in case Wayne was up there. 

But, thankfully, he wasn’t. His bedroom door was open, too, and just looking inside as he passed, Jason couldn’t see Wayne in there.

Which hopefully meant he _was_ up in the attic. And would stay there. Forever. 

In Jason’s room, he found the basket of clothes Alfred had been talking about, sitting on the floor right in front of his dresser. 

Alfred bought him a bunch of clothes, apparently. There was at least twenty shirts in the pile, along with the ones Wayne had bought him, and a good dozen pairs of pants and shorts. 

Some were better than others. He didn’t care much for the polos or the khakis Alfred got him, but Jason figured Alfred just bought him some because that’s what he’d been wearing. 

That, or he wanted Jason to have ‘rich kid’ clothes. 

Because none of the new stuff was from target, that was for sure. 

Jason started putting the clothes away into the dresser, placing the socks and underwear in a top drawer, and then separating the shirts and pants up based on whether he actually liked them. He put all the stuff he liked in higher drawers, and everything else in lower drawers. 

Where he would never wear them. 

Ever. 

As long as Wayne wasn’t lying and he got to pick what he wore, that was. 

In the other top drawer, next to the sock drawer, Jason put all the nice pajamas Alfred bought him. At Target, Jason had picked out just some basic cotton pants and shirts sets, but Alfred got him a mix of flannel and silky-looking pants, with a large variety of shirts, too. 

His favorite was a bright red long sleeve shirt. It was a superhero shirt, with what he was pretty sure was Flash’s symbol. A yellow lightning bolt. The pants with it were plaid, and the entire outfit was two sizes too big for him. And, just like the rest of the clothes, it smelled vaguely like lavender. 

Jason decided to go ahead and change into his pajamas then. It _was_ night time, after all. Almost… 

He had to tie the drawstring on the pants, to keep them up, and Jason was thrilled. It was a nice change from the stiff, tight clothes Donny always made him wear. 

Speaking of, Jason would have loved to just throw what he had been wearing in the trash, but he went ahead and placed them inside the hamper next to the dresser. 

Wayne appeared in the doorway when Jason was closing back up the last drawer of his dresser with his foot, and Jason was quite proud of himself for not jumping when Wayne spoke up. 

“Hey, Jase. You look cozy.” 

“Yeah,” he said, looking down at how he was absolutely drowning in the pajamas, then over at Wayne, “Is this okay?”

“Bud, you can wear whatever you want,” Wayne said, smiling a little, although it looked a little forced. Did that mean he didn’t like it? Or was he annoyed Jason was even asking? “You don’t need anyone’s input.” 

“Kay.” He crossed his arms and tried not to stare at Wayne. 

He was just standing in the doorway, still, and was carrying three boxes filled with brightly colored… things. The big box on the bottom was obviously legos, but Jason had no idea what the other two, smaller boxes on top contained. Just. Bright colors. 

At least that’s all he was doing.

“May I come in?” Wayne asked, “I found Dick’s old toys I was talking about.”

“Um, I guess?” Jason said. Why did Wayne even ask? It was _his_ house. 

Wayne stepped a few feet into the room, then set down the boxes and knelt down in front of them, saying, “These are the toys Dick liked the most. If you don’t like them, that’s fine. Don’t feel like you _have_ to like them, okay?” 

“Okay,” Jason said, nodding a little. He hadn’t moved from where he was standing, next to the dresser, but Wayne didn’t seem to care. 

“We can find you things you like and buy them, okay? This is just what we already have. I wasn’t expecting to have another kid move in, or I would have ordered some new things already.”

Jason only nodded. 

How did Wayne not expect to get another kid? Hadn’t he sought Donny out for this? 

“Okay,” Wayne said, now frowning just a little, “And if you find something in another room you like, like puzzles or books or something, you can bring them in here. There are plenty of shelves in here, you can fill them up with whatever you want, okay? I want you to feel at home here.”

At home. Right. 

Because Jason was there permanently. 

_Where were the books at?_

Wayne sighed, and picked up one of the boxes, a little, as if checking to make sure the toys were inside it. Then he looked up at Jason and said, “I get why you’re afraid of me, kiddo, but I meant it when I said I wasn’t going to hurt you.” 

“I’m not afraid of you,” Jason said, tightening his arms around of himself. 

Because he _wasn’t_ afraid of Wayne. 

Nope. Not at all.

“That’s good,” Wayne said, and Jason could just _tell_ Wayne didn’t believe him for a second, “You don’t need to be afraid of me. You are safe here.” 

“Sure,” he said. Because it might actually be true, just based on the ridiculous security system. It was unlikely the mob was breaking in. 

It was probably just when they opened the manor for parties, or Jason _left_ the manor that he’d have to start worrying about all that. 

Wayne tapped on the lid of the top box a couple times, then stood as he said, “Okay, well. I’m going to get a bit more work done, then I’ve got to go out. Alfred will be around if you need anything.” 

“Uh,” Jason stammered, for a second, before he nodded and said, “Okay.” 

Wayne was _going out?_ On Jason’s first night with him?

“Okay,” Wayne repeated, rubbing at the side of his face. After another second, he just turned around and walked out. 

And that was _it._

Jason couldn’t say he was annoyed by it. Not at all. 

After Wayne had fully retreated down the hall and to the stairs, Jason walked over to the boxes and sat down in front of them. 

As promised, there were legos, and building toys in the other two boxes. One was filled with what had to be the ‘magnet things’ Wayne was talking about, because it was filled with a bunch of little rods with magnets on either side of them, and a ton of metal balls. 

He picked up one of the rods, and watched curiously how it attached to one of the metal balls, then connected a few more together until he had a triangle. 

They were pretty neat, he had to admit. He spent a good five minutes creating a bunch of little triangles, connecting them all together on the floor until he ran out of pieces entirely and had just one giant triangle on the floor, made up of probably a hundred little triangles. 

Maybe he’d keep those ones, at least. _Maybe._

Jason shrugged and smashed up the triangle, squishing all the magnets up together so he could dump them back into their box. Once they were all cleaned up, he went and found a shelf the boxes could sit on. 

The largest box, with the legos, was too big for all the shelves in his room, so he just put it against the wall next to the shelf holding the littler boxes and called it done. 

After he had everything up nice and neat, he decided it wouldn’t be terrible if he went exploring again.

If Wayne really was going out that night, he probably didn’t have to worry about him at all. So it might be the perfect time to scope out more of the family living area. 

And _maybe_ he could find some books. 

Jason wandered around for a little while, and discovered two more living rooms, both which had way bigger TVs than what was in the den he’d been in earlier. 

In one of the living rooms, there was a bookshelf on either side of the fireplace, so Jason started browsing through all the titles. 

He didn’t recognize any of them. 

And, in fact, they seemed to be _really old,_ too. One whole shelf was filled with stuff like _Annals of Congress, 1803,_ and such. There was no way people actually _read_ those books. They looked more like antiques, there for decoration. 

Where the fuck were the books they _read?_ Bruce _said_ he could bring books back to his room. 

“Ah,” Alfred said, startling Jason into spinning around and facing the butler, who had somehow snuck into the room without him noticing, “I see you like your new clothes.”

“Yeah,” Jason said, in an exhale, while he worked on making his heart calm back down. 

“I’m glad,” Alfred said, “Are you interested in reading about our congress in the nineteenth century?” 

“Uh, not really,” Jason said, rubbing the back of his neck. What he _really_ wanted was a copy of _Alice in Wonderland._ That was the book he’d been reading at Donny’s. 

Even though he’d read it half a dozen times before. He just wanted to finish reading it again. 

“I was just looking around.” 

Alfred smiled, and asked, “If you are bored, may I challenge you to a game of chess?” 

Jason grinned, and said, “Sure.” Alfred was _definitely_ nice. 

“Have you ever played chess before?” Alfred asked, as he motioned for Jason to follow him to wherever the chess set was. Probably in that den with all the games. 

Although Jason didn’t remember seeing a chess set among all the other board games. 

With a shrug, Jason followed along. He’d played chess before, yeah, but not in _years._ And he wasn’t sure he remembered how each piece moved… exactly. 

He might have been in the chess club when he was in third grade… But that was mostly because the chess club got after school snacks, and Jason was a major sucker for Oreos and zebra cakes, okay? Not a dork. 

“I would be more than happy to teach you then, lad,” Alfred said, leading Jason into a room he hadn’t explored yet. 

It was _another_ den-living room thing. Although this one didn’t have a TV in it. And up against the wall was a real life chess _table._ With what looked like a marble top and carved stone pieces. 

“Wow,” he said, as he sat down across from Alfred, “this is so fancy.” 

Alfred smiled, and ran Jason through what each of the pieces were called, and how each of them could move. The only one he couldn’t remember, exactly, was what the bishops were called. As it turned out, he remembered everything else. 

Jason got to move first, and he and Alfred traded turns back and forth about ten times in mostly comfortable silence until Wayne stood in the doorway and knocked on the door.

With Alfred right there, and Bruce already saying he was leaving for the night, anyway, Jason wasn’t even startled by it. And when he looked up, he saw Wayne decked out in a fancy-ass suit. Or, tux, maybe? Jason didn’t know the names of the fancy clothes. Whatever it was, it included a bow tie, and Wayne looked _stupid_ in it. 

“Where are you going all spiffied up?” Jason asked, as he looked back down at the board and tried to decide which piece he was going to move next. Alfred would be able to kill his knight in the next round, if he didn’t move it. But, Jason could take Alfred’s last bishop that round. So it was a hard choice to make. 

“Charity gala at the museum,” Wayne answered, “I’ll be back in the morning,” after a pause, Wayne corrected, “maybe late morning.” 

Jason snorted. “Not even going to pretend you’re spending the night in your own bed?” 

With a huff, Bruce said, a little indignantly, “Shouldn’t you be in bed? Isn’t it 12-year-old bedtime?” 

It was like _nine._ At the latest. 

So, no. 

Usually his night was just _beginning_ at this point. 

“Dude, I haven’t slept at night in _years.”_

Wayne put a hand on the doorframe, then shut his eyes and tapped his forehead against it. 

Apparently Jason was annoying him again, or something. Jason didn’t _get it._ Did he want banter or _not?_

“You worked last night, didn’t you,” Wayne finally asked, and Jason was just _more_ confused. 

“Uh, duh,” he said, “I work every night.” 

Except that night, apparently. 

He was playing chess with the butler and probably going to bed. To _sleep._ Jason couldn’t find anything to complain about, at the moment. 

Well, he could. Wayne was still being annoying. Especially when he just sighed and said, “Well, not anymore Never again.” 

“Sure.” Maybe he wouldn’t have random clients every night, but he wasn’t naive enough to actually take Wayne at his word. 

Alfred smiled, when Jason looked back at him, as he continued contemplating his move. Jason had decided to kill his bishop, and Jason was a little surprised Alfred hadn’t immediately retaliated by killing his knight. 

“When do you normally sleep,” Wayne asked, after a second, “Because as far as I can tell, you’ve been awake all day.” 

“Yeah, cause stupid Donny woke me up to meet you. He couldn’t resist the dollar signs, I guess. Usually I sleep until lunch.” 

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said, and Jason looked over to see him frown, hard, “If you go to bed soon, you can start relearning to sleep at night.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Jason said, dismissively, looking back at Alfred did, indeed, move his rook three spaces over so it could take out his knight. 

Wayne sighed again. “I know you think Donny will get you back, but I swear to you he will not. You will be either here, or in another perfectly normal home, where you will sleep at normal times so you can attend school like every other kid your age. Okay?” 

Jason’s heart stuttered, a little, at the notion of _school._ But he wasn’t going to let himself get his hopes up. Yet. 

Much. 

He hadn’t even broached that topic with Wayne yet, so it was kind of maybe exciting _he_ seemed to expect Jason to attend school. 

But if he let his hopes up too high, it would absolutely _destroy_ him, if Wayne ended up deciding to just keep Jason secret forever, instead. 

So he was not going to trust it. Not until it actually happened. He would be just fine with books, which Wayne said were somewhere in the house already.

“I have to go,” Wayne said, when Jason didn’t answer, “I’ve kept the driver waiting 20 minutes already.” 

“Do behave yourself tonight, sir,” Alfred said, “I do not wish to see your face plastered across the papers tomorrow.” 

Wayne grinned, and said, “No promises, Alfred.” 

Jason just rolled his eyes. _Playboys._

“Good night, Jason,” he said, his smile softening a little when he looked at Jason, “I’ll see you again tomorrow.” 

“Bye,” Jason said, turning back toward Alfred. Wayne walked off, a second later, and Jason rested his head down into his hand, feeling himself relax even more. 

And as he relaxed, he could feel just how tired he was. Maybe he _should_ go to bed soon.

But playing chess with Alfred was kind of fun. So Jason decided he’d at least finish out the game. Especially since it was clear Alfred _knew_ Jason was a whore. And obviously didn’t care. He hadn’t looked confused at all during his and Wayne’s conversation, and his smile was just as soft as it had been before. 

Jason definitely really liked Alfred. He hoped Alfred kept being nice to him, and wasn’t acting. Alfred could make living with Wayne almost pleasant, he thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo, another chapter got done. This actually had a lot more dialogue for it, too, but I hit 3k words and decided that was a nice spot to end this chapter. The next chapter might pick right back up with Jason & Alfred, or that conversation might get pushed off a little more. We'll see. I'm just kind of winging this. :) I have like 10k words in draft/outline/notes so.... this is gonna be a _long_ fic. Heh. 
> 
> Anyway, I gotta write a chapter for The Best Things today or tomorrow, so this one probably won't update again for a few days. I hope I can keep myself focused, at least.... this story keeps calling me back. It's where my muse is right now. 😆
> 
> Thanks for reading ❤️ You guys are so sweet in the comments.


	10. Chapter 10

“Master Jason, if I may,” Alfred said, after Jason had sat there for a few minutes, just resting his head down in his hand. He _was_ thinking about his move. He was. 

He was also really tired. 

But hearing Alfred call him _that_ again made him scowl, just a little, before he looked up at Alfred. 

“Master Bruce means you no harm,” he said, after a beat. Jason could roll his eyes. 

He didn’t, though. Just said, “Yeah, he told me.” 

Did they both think Jason thought Wayne was gonna hit him, or something? Murder him and bury his body in little pieces in the back yard?

Jason _didn’t_ think that. 

Maybe yes on the hitting part, but Jason could easily avoid that by just not pissing Wayne off.

Besides, people said _all the time_ they weren’t gonna hurt him. And yet they still did things that hurt. So why the fuck would he even listen to such a stupid promise?

But Alfred probably didn’t know. Jason… hoped Alfred didn’t know.

 _How could Alfred not know?_ He did, like, the laundry and shit… And obviously knew where Jason came from. And what kind of work he did.

If Alfred knew, it meant he was no better than Wayne. And Jason shouldn’t like him. Because then he wasn’t a nice guy, he was just… being nice. To help Jason feel more comfortable in the house, or something. 

To make Jason be more comfortable for Wayne… 

“I get the sense you do not believe him,” Alfred said. 

What was this guy, a mind reader?

Jason looked up from where he’d been staring at the board, but didn’t answer. Because the truth was he didn’t _know_ if he believed Bruce. And he didn’t want to get into it with Alfred. 

Or anyone. Ever. 

He’d rather just… keep going. And if Wayne did hurt him, then fine. Whatever. But if he _didn’t,_ then great, but he wasn’t going to hold his breath for that outcome.

“I’ll be blunt,” Alfred said, a moment later, “Master Bruce did not bring you here so he could touch you in any manner.” 

Yeah, okay.

People didn’t just drop 10k on a kid for no reason. 

And _Wayne_ hadn’t promised _that._ He’d just promised not to _hurt_ Jason. 

Right? Well, he’d kind of promised that, right before he took Jason to the police. But he’d been _acting_ the whole fucking time. So how could Jason even consider trusting anything he said?

Alfred sat there, for a long minute, and was clearly waiting for Jason to respond somehow. So he finally scowled and snapped, “Yeah, that’s what _he_ said, too. But that was when he was pretending to be naive and stupid.” 

“What makes you think he was acting,” Alfred asked, apparently completely unfazed by Jason’s attitude.

Donny would have smacked him for back talking like that. Or for calling one of the other mob members ‘stupid.’ Even when every fucking one of them was.

“He—“ Jason started, then paused. Because what made Alfred think he _wasn’t?_ He sat back in his chair, just in case what he said pissed Alfred off. At least he’d get a touch of warning, first. 

“He managed to _buy_ me _and_ convince Gordon he was ‘rescuing’ me, just like he did with Dick.” 

But Jason wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t falling for it, too, like Gordon. And maybe he should stop falling for Alfred, too. 

Well. Maybe he’d let Alfred play chess with him and stuff, because that was less awful than sitting around doing nothing, but he didn’t have to believe the praise for Wayne that came out of his mouth. 

Somehow, Jason’s accusation didn’t piss Alfred off. Instead, he smiled, like he thought _he_ just won the argument. “Ah,” he said, “but that is not a bad thing, because Master Bruce never once harmed Master Dick.” 

At that, Jason _did_ roll his eyes. Just because _Wayne_ or even _Alfred_ didn’t think it was ‘harming’ didn’t mean jack shit. He pulled his legs up onto the chair and hugged his knees, so he could rest his head on top of them. There was no use in arguing that. Alfred wouldn’t understand, anyway. If he even wanted to. 

“Master Jason,” Alfred said, then stopped. Probably because Jason couldn’t stop his face from screwing up, a little. 

He wasn’t going to _cry._ He didn’t _cry._

Except earlier… 

Maybe he should go to bed. He could crawl under the covers and pretend nothing was happening. Wayne wasn’t even home. He could maybe actually sleep. 

How the fuck was he going to sleep in the same house as Wayne for the rest of his childhood? He wouldn't be eighteen for over five more years. 

“Lad,” Alfred said, very softly, “I am terribly sorry monsters have harmed you in the past. It kills me to know what you have been through, but I promise you Master Bruce will never lay a hand on you, just as he never laid a hand on Master Richard. I would _never_ allow that to go on in my house.” 

Jason scrubbed at the side of his face, just to try and make the stinging sensation _go away._ Then asked, a little shakily, “Your house?” 

Alfred was the butler. He was _staff._

But Alfred smiled, a little deviously, and said, “I did raise Master Bruce, you know.” 

_What? “You did?”_ Jason asked, looking back up at Alfred with wide eyes. How did a butler raise the person he worked for? 

“Indeed I did,” Alfred said, “From the age of eight.” 

“That’s why he lets you boss him around,” Jason said, thinking aloud. But then why did Alfred call him _master?_ And Jason and Dick… 

Alfred hummed as he nodded, then said, “I suppose so, yes. And I promise you, lad, I would _never_ allow him to harm a child in any way.” 

“You swear?” Jason asked. 

He had _no idea_ what to think now. He wished everything made fucking _sense._ Why couldn’t everything happening fit neatly into _one_ category. Was Bruce Wayne a dickwad _or not?_

“What do the kids say?” Alfred mused, as he smiled and made a little cross over his chest, with his finger, “Cross my heart and hope to die?” 

With another roll of his eyes, Jason huffed, “Kids don’t say that. Old people say that.” 

“Hm, regardless.” 

Jason sat for a few seconds, before he sat up, just enough so he could reach the board, then moved his knight closer to Alfred’s king. He was within reach of the king, now, but Alfred couldn’t do anything about it. He’d just have to move the king. 

“Check.” 

Alfred smiled wide at Jason’s move, then started reviewing the board. While he was confirming he had to move his king, Jason sat back again and hugged his knees tighter. 

Before his brain could talk him out of it, his mouth asked, “Then… Why would Donny assume that Bruce would want _me?”_

Had Dick been some whore kid Wayne found, too? Or was he a nice, clean, proper child? Based on all the pictures Jason saw, he would assume the later. So why on earth would Donny think Bruce would want Jason? Some dirty crime alley working rat? If not for _fun time?_

That was all Jason knew how to do.

“Why do _you_ assume Master Bruce must want that,” Alfred asked, as he finally moved his king one spot to the left, out of reach of Jason’s knight. 

“Because he’s rich?”

Poor people might be pedophiles, too, but they didn’t hire child prostitutes, Jason knew that much. And they certainly didn’t throw a huge wad of money to get to take one home for a week. 

Or forever. 

Or whatever. 

Alfred merely raised an eyebrow, as if asking _please elaborate._

“And…” Jason continued, lifting a hand so he could pick at the scrunched fabric around his knee instead of look at Alfred, “The rich, like, don’t care about laws and stuff?” Like, sex with kids was illegal. “And are usually pretty freaky.” At least as far as Jason could tell, the richer the client was, the crazier he was. 

“Stereotypes, is what you are saying,” Alfred said, “You have a set of beliefs about rich men, based on your experiences with them.”

When Jason nodded, Alfred continued, “My assumption is Donald Falcone has a similar set of stereotypes in his head, and did not look beyond those to see Bruce for who he really is.” 

“Which is?” Jason asked. 

“A naive, stupid man.” 

Jason couldn’t help it. He grinned, and hid his face behind his knees, so Alfred couldn’t see. 

But Alfred must have seen anyway, because he returned the smile and said, “I do believe he is far less naive than you think, lad.” 

_Lad._

“ _You’re_ where he gets ‘lad,’” Jason blurted out, dropping his legs so he was sitting criss cross, so he was sitting up a little taller. No wonder Bruce sounded like an old man. He picked it up from an old man! 

“Perhaps,” Alfred said, still smiling, but then he shifted to a more serious face and added, “Master Bruce is well aware of how Gotham works. The city stole his parents from him when he was younger than you are in a horrible act of violence. He has not been blind to Gotham’s dark side since, and he has dedicated his life to making it better.”

What the fuck did Bruce Wayne think he could do to change Gotham?

“He’s just one dude,” Jason pointed out. One rich dude everyone thought was a pedophile. And taking Jason in was not going to help him in that regard, at all, even if he _did_ turn out to be good, like Alfred was trying to convince him. 

Jason still wasn’t going to hold his breath for that result. He’d just be pleasantly surprised, if it turned out that way. 

“Perhaps,” Alfred conceded, “but ‘just one dude’ got you away from the Falcones, did he not?” 

“ _Yeah,”_ Jason said. _For now._ “But I’m just one kid.” How the fuck did kidnapping one working boy fix an entire city? 

Donny would just go find himself another boy to replace Jason, after he put a hit out on Bruce. 

In fact, that was going to happen _regardless_ of whether Wayne turned out to be a freak. 

Alfred nodded, and said, “True. But if all Master Bruce was able to do in his entire life was save _just one kid,_ wouldn’t that still be worth it? Especially if that one child was _you?_ ” 

What made Jason special?

Hell, what made _Dick_ special? Because either Wayne was a pedophile and he’d just been taking in his own boys, or he _was_ rescuing children. Which meant he’d actually done it for ‘just two’ kids. 

Jason didn’t really want to think about any of that anymore. It was giving him a headache, and he still didn’t even know if he could trust _Alfred._

And since he was trapped in Wayne Manor regardless, what was even the point of fretting over it all? Either everything was okay, or nothing was. And either way Jason could be fine. He _would_ be fine. Just like he always was. 

So Jason stared at the board in front of him, and saw how all he had to do was move his bishop five squares diagonally, and then the next turn he could kill Alfred’s king with the bishop. And since his king could only move to three spots, all of which Jason could reach with either his queen, knight, or rook, Alfred was screwed. 

“Alfred?” Jason asked, once he sat up on his knees so he could reach the whole board better. 

“Yes, dear boy?” 

“I lied.” Jason reached out and moved the bishop the five spaces, and grinned. “I know how to play chess. Checkmate.” 

“Well played,” Alfred said, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling more as he smiled at Jason, “But I’m afraid the gloves must come off, now.” 

“Okay, you’re on,” Jason replied, as he started resetting his side of the board. He could do another round, for sure. As long as Alfred let the topic of Bruce drop. 

He did, thankfully. And the next round of chess went a lot quicker. 

Apparently Alfred had been going easy on him. Because Jason absolutely got his ass kicked the second time around.

Alfred managed to take his queen almost immediately. It was like, five rounds in or whatever, but it was still an outrage. 

“You should protect your queen, Master Jason,” Alfred said, as he murdered her so cruelly. 

All Jason had taken of his so far was some pawns. 

“She will be avenged,” Jason promised.

He lied. 

Because Alfred got his king just a few rounds later, when all Jason had managed to capture of Alfred’s was a bishop. Which Jason was pretty sure Alfred used as a decoy, to distract Jason. 

Like a jerk. 

“You are a worthy opponent, Master Jason,” Alfred said, like he thought that would cheer Jason up. 

It was fun to play against someone who clearly knew what he was doing, though. Instead of stupid other 8-year-olds who kept calling the knight a ‘horsey’ and moved it wrong _every single time._

“You know you don’t have to call me master, right?” Jason said, again. Not that he expected Alfred to listen any better the second time. 

“It is proper etiquette, young sir.” 

“No,” Jason grumbled, “It’s weird is what it is. I’m not your master.” 

Not even _Bruce_ was Alfred’s ‘master,’ considering Alfred said he raised him, and he bossed him around a bunch, too. 

And even if Wayne _was_ like that, Jason wasn’t. He’d never ever _ever_ make someone call him anything like that. 

Ever. 

He wasn’t even sure he liked _sir._

In fact. He didn’t. He didn’t like sir, at all. Sir was what stupid adults on power trips made kids call them. No guy who ever said _Yes, what?_ to Jason had ever been worthy of his respect. 

Alfred nodded, and said, “But that is not what the word means.” 

Yes it _was._ It might also mean other things, but _one_ definition of it was like boss, but worse. And Jason wasn’t even Alfred’s _boss._ Or _anyone’s_ boss. 

His face must have soured, in response, because Alfred frowned and asked, “Does it truly bother you?” 

It was stupid. It was really really really stupid, but Jason’s stomach flipped, a little, when he tried to answer _Yes. It really bothers me._ So he just nodded, twice, and focused on his pieces as he reset the board for the next time someone wanted to play with the chess set. 

Alfred took several long seconds to respond, as he sat there quietly. Just staring at Jason, while Jason purposely didn’t look up. 

Finally, he said, “You will have to forgive an old man, I have been using the term for nearly 40 years, and it will be a difficult habit to break. But for you, I will try.”

“Really?” Jason asked, quietly.

“For you, my dear boy,” Alfred said, his kind smile back on his face, “anything.” 

Jason was going to ignore the little shoot in his chest, at Alfred’s words, and just returned Alfred’s smile. If only a little smaller. 

He really did hope he could trust Alfred. Because so far Alfred was awesome. 

“Well then,” Alfred said, clapping his hands once the board was fully reset, “I do believe it’s time for bed, _Jason.”_

With another smile, Jason nodded, and hopped down off the chair. He was tired, so going to bed sounded like the best idea. 

And with the prospect of _actually sleeping_ in his room _,_ Jason wasn’t going to turn the chance down. 

“Do you need anything?” Alfred asked, without standing to follow Jason. Which was also nice. Because Jason didn’t really want Alfred going to his room, either, if he was honest. If he could just be in his room alone, he’d actually sleep. 

“No thanks, Alfred.” 

“Then sleep well. When you are ready for breakfast in the morning, come find me and I will prepare you something. There is no set time.” 

“Okay,” he said, with a nod, “Thanks, Alfred.”

“It is my pleasure, dear boy.” 

As Jason made his way up to his room, he chose not to think about anything Alfred said about Bruce. Because he would probably go crazy, trying to figure out what was true. 

But at least Alfred was nice. Jason could deal with anything Wayne wanted, as long as Alfred kept being nice to him. He wouldn’t even have to pretend everything was fine. 

Probably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exciting. Next chapter it's finally not the first day. :D I love this slow pace, tbh. I hope y'all like it too, cause I'm having such a blast going so in depth with Jason's transition into Bruce's house.


	11. Chapter 11

Sleep should have come easy. 

Jason was alone in his room. Wayne wasn’t even _home._ And Alfred wasn’t anywhere on the same floor as him, not that he expected _Alfred_ to come bother him at any point. 

So Jason was alone. It was dark. It was quiet. He was _tired._ Sleep should have come easy. 

But it didn’t. 

For the first hour, Jason kept tossing and turning. Every time he felt himself start to drift, his stupid body jumped awake, making him look around to see what the fuck had even startled him. 

It was always _nothing._

Because he was _alone._

After the first hour, he got up and closed his door. He hoped that was okay, and no one got mad at him for that, but it was probably worth the risk. Maybe with the door shut, his brain would stop freaking out. Besides. _Wayne wasn’t even home._

And even if he did come home, the opening door would wake Jason, so he would have plenty of waring. And could absolutely sleep. Right?

Wrong.

No matter how he lay in the bed, he could not convince his body to go to sleep. 

It was the bed, he was pretty sure. The bed was huge. Way too big. 

His bed at Donny’s was way smaller. Really no room for more than just Jason. Like. A cot. He was pretty sure it was called a cot. 

_This_ bed was so big several people could sleep in it. And usually when Jason was in big beds…

Jason pressed his pillow into his face, trying to smother his stupid brain and make it stop thinking. He was _on break._ It was _a night off._

Nothing helped. 

Finally, after Jason had been trying to sleep for at least two hours, he sat up and looked around the room. There was no law saying he _had_ to sleep in his bed. 

Probably. 

And there was a couch in his room. 

Jason wrapped himself up in the gigantic fluffy blanket from his bed, and dragged one of the pillows with him. He threw the pillow on one end, and collapsed down, putting his back against the back of the couch, and snuggling down so he could see all the windows. 

Which was how Jason spent he had no idea how long. Just staring out the windows, watching the silhouettes of the bats, against the clear, starry sky. 

\- - - 

Jason woke many hours later, still curled up in his blanket, in the same position. Completely undisturbed. 

The sun was high in the sky, too, which meant it was probably late morning. Wayne might even be home, already, it was so late. 

He took his sweet time sitting up, and stretching out his stiff muscles. When he finally stood up, he looked at the little clock on his nightstand, and saw it was almost 10. 

10! 

He slept for, like, nine or ten hours straight. Absolutely insane. He _never_ slept that long. Usually he got something closer to six hours of sleep. Maybe seven or eight if he was lucky. 

Never _ten._

And had his stupid brain let him go to sleep when he actually went to bed, it would have been way more sleep. 

But since it was late morning, and since Wayne was probably home already, Jason went ahead and took a shower and got dressed for the day. He wanted to go find Alfred before he ran into Wayne, and he felt weird not being clean and dressed before doing that. 

Sadly, there weren’t any more long sleeve shirts in his dresser, but there were plenty of nicely sized t-shirts, and none of the pants were _skinny_ cuts, so he just picked a set out at random and put it on. Just a plain blue shirt with some jeans. 

Jason took half a second to gather himself, before he finally opened his bedroom door and stepped outside. 

No one was in the hall, which was good. 

And when Jason passed by Wayne’s room, the door was still open. And the room still looked empty. 

Which meant either he wasn’t home yet, or he was elsewhere in the house.

Maybe he could just spend the whole day in his study again, and leave Jason alone. And _then_ he could go away again that night, and leave him alone forever. 

With a snort, Jason shook his head and bounced down the stairs. He wasn’t _that_ stupid. He’d just deal with Wayne whenever he appeared. It would be fine. 

He found Alfred sitting in the kitchen, sipping at a cup of tea and reading a book. Jason felt kind of bad, for interrupting his quiet morning, but the second he stood in the doorway, Alfred looked up and shut his book with a smile, so it was too late to turn around and occupy himself elsewhere.

“Good morning, lad,” Alfred said, “I trust you slept well?”

“Yeah, it was good.” Jason nodded as he crossed his arms. “Is W—Is Bruce home yet?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Alfred replied, and Jason let out an involuntary breath. Good. He could have a quiet morning, too. 

Alfred continued, “He should be home by lunch, however. Would you like some breakfast?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.” Jason _was_ hungry. 

Of course, Alfred just smiled as he stood and said, “Nonsense, lad. You are never too much trouble.”

Jason sat down at the island while Alfred pulled out some stuff from the fridge and a frying pan. As far as he could tell, Alfred was making him bacon and eggs, which he had absolutely no complaints about. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, while Alfred started frying the bacon. Jason drummed his fingers against the cool stone counter beneath him and tried to think of something to talk about. Or do. So his brain wouldn’t get wise and start thinking about shit. 

Alfred’s book was sitting on the counter opposite him, so he sat up a little taller and tried to read the title. But the book was upside down, and the back of it was hard to read from where he was. The words were too small. And upside down. 

But Jason wasn’t subtle, apparently, because when Alfred turned around, he smiled and said, “I am reading _Hard Times_ by Charles Dickens,” and stepped over so he could push the book toward Jason.

“Oh,” he said, carefully flipping it over so he could look at the cover. He didn’t want to mess anything up.

“My dear boy,” Alfred said, some amusement in his voice. Jason liked how Alfred smiled and just seemed happy all the time. It was way better than how Wayne just sighed and frowned a lot. Got mad at him. 

“You will not break it,” Alfred continued, and Jason just ducked his head a little.

“I didn’t want to lose your place.” 

“I am on page 112,” Alfred said, turning back to flip the bacon, “Don’t you worry about that.”

“Oh.” Jason opened the book and started reading the first page, just to find out what the book was about. The sentence structure was a little strange, and a bit roundabout, he thought, but that just made it more fun to read. It made him slow down and actually think about what it was saying. 

“Do you read much,” Alfred asked, once Jason finished the first page and turned to the next. 

“Uh, sometimes,” He wished he could read more, but Donny wasn’t always eager to buy him new books all the time. ‘I just fucking bought you two new books last week,’ he would say. So Jason tried to go slow and not tear through his books too fast. 

Even though goodwill sold paperbacks for fifty cents a piece… he really didn’t understand why Donny wasn’t willing to let him spent like, three dollars a week on books. _Who cared?_ Jason raked in _way_ more than three dollars a week. 

Way way way more. He knew what his hourly rate was. 

So he just read the books he had over and over, to keep from whining at Donny too much, and make him stop buying books all together. 

Maybe Wayne wouldn’t be as volatile as Donny, and he could convince Wayne to spend a few dollars here or there on books more often.

He… he’d need to get a feel for Wayne, first. Just to make sure asking him for shit wouldn’t ruin everything. 

Although he’d already offered to buy Jason things he wanted… he said toys, but Jason could spin it that books were basically the same thing. 

_Plus,_ he said books were _already in_ the manor…

“I’ve never read any Charles Dickens,” Jason said, as he started reading through the second page. 

He’d been wanting to read some Dickens, but Donny hadn’t brought him any yet. Donny rarely brought Jason with him to the thrift stores, so Jason had asked specifically for a few authors, and Donny just laughed and said, ‘You’re quite the little dork.’ But Jason was pretty sure Donny was looking, so he wasn’t bugging him too much about it.

“After breakfast I’d be happy to retrieve you my favorite of his,” Alfred said, “if you wish to read it.” 

Jason grinned and nodded. “That’d be cool.” Alfred was _so much_ nicer than Donny. 

Obviously. 

He hoped… 

“Dickens wrote in the mid 1800s,” Alfred said, “so the prose is different from today’s writings.” 

“Yeah,” Jason agreed, “the sentences are kinda… long.” It didn’t bother him, though. It actually reminded him of other older books he read. He usually liked older books. “When was _Pride and Prejudice_ written?” 

Alfred hummed, and said, “I believe in the early 1800s, why?” 

“I’ve read that one,” he said, with a shrug. The styles weren’t _really_ the same, but they were similar. The sentence structure. 

“Have you really?” Alfred asked, and the sound of astonishment in his voice made Jason look up. Then duck his head a little back into the book.

He didn’t want to look too long, or think too hard about how Alfred could possibly look at him so, so… _fondly._ After knowing him less than a day. 

“Quite impressive, lad,” he said, and Jason heard him pull the bacon off the pan and pile it up on a plate, “I will certainly bring you a copy of _Oliver Twist_ later, then.” 

It wasn’t _that_ impressive. It was just one of the books Donny had found him, so he’d read it. Over and over. 

And okay, he loved it, too. But that was beside the point. 

Alfred cracked a couple eggs and said, “However, you may borrow that one, if it captivates you.” 

“No,” Jason said quickly, even though he was on chapter two already. Not that that was too impressive. Chapter one was stupid short. “You were reading it.” 

With a little chuckle, Alfred went over to the fridge and got out some orange juice, but didn’t respond. So Jason kept reading.

“Hey, that smells good,” Wayne said, a moment later, from the doorway behind Jason.

Jason jumped. Hard. Then cursed himself for jumping like that. He didn’t want Wayne thinking he was afraid of him, because he wasn’t. Obviously. And clients _hated_ it when he seemed scared. 

Or they found it cute. 

And _Jason_ hated that. 

He turned and offered Wayne a smile, but Wayne just frowned back at him, so Jason turned back around and tried to just make himself turn invisible. Or keep reading. 

Reading would be better.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred said, after a second, “Did you know this child has read _Pride and Prejudice?”_

“Really?” Wayne said, and he sounded impressed, too. But Jason wasn’t turning back around to see. “Wow. I couldn’t get through that one.” 

“I know,” Alfred replied, “Your tastes in books is abhorrent.” 

Wayne laughed, and said, apparently to Jason, “I was always into mystery novels. I would make Alfred get me the crappy ones, too. Those were the best.” 

Alfred scoffed, like the mere idea of crappy novels over classics was offensive. “And then he would not read the entire book, but rather figure out the solution as quickly as he could, then read the ending to confirm.” 

“No need to read the middle if I know the ending,” Wayne said. 

Jason wasn’t sure how to respond. Or if he even should. He kept trying to read, but he _couldn’t._ His eyes had gone over the same line fifteen times, but the words weren’t making it into his brain. 

And they had been kind of talking to him. 

No one said anything about him not responding, though, and instead Wayne walked across the room to stand right behind him. Jason put all his focus on not leaning away. 

But Wayne didn’t touch him. 

Instead, he set a backpack on the counter in front of him, and Jason just looked up and stared at it.

Because.

It wasn’t _a_ backpack.

It was _his_ backpack.

From Donny’s.

The one he would pack sometimes, for away visits if the client wanted. 

How did Wayne _get it?_

Did he go see Donny?

Why the _fuck_ would he go see Donny? Jason didn’t need clothes. Alfred and Wayne got him plenty. 

And he really, really didn’t want to wear the shit clothes Donny made them wear, not when he had way more comfortable stuff upstairs… 

“That’s yours, right?” Wayne asked, moving around the corner of the island, so he was facing Jason a little more, and not behind him anymore. 

Jason must have looked super confused when he looked at, because Wayne smiled and said, “Batman raided Donny’s place last night,” as if that explained everything. And didn’t raise five thousand more questions.

Because Batman… 

“ _What?”_

How did Batman find out about it? Why _last_ night? 

“Yep,” Wayne said, grinning now like he was so fucking happy about it, “Gordon says all the boys have been rescued. They’re being placed into federal protective custody.” 

“Federal?” Jason asked. Like. Not Gotham. Or New Jersey. But the _United States Government_ was going to protect them?

Why?? How?? 

Wayne nodded and said, “Yeah, the FBI is getting involved. Gordon called them up about it. Usually these sorts of cases go federal, anyway, so best to get them involved right from the start.” 

What? _Why last night?_

Well, he knew why last night. Wayne had dragged Jason to Gordon yesterday morning. So Gordon probably called up Batman, then the FBI. 

“What about me?” Jason asked. He wasn’t sure if he wished he had been there, or not. To be rounded up with the other boys. 

Was _federal_ protective custody any good? He knew New Jersey couldn’t protect people from the mobs. But the feds could move them to like, Alaska. 

“You’re already in protective custody,” Wayne said, and Jason tried not to deflate.

Because right. ‘Protective’ custody. With Bruce Wayne, the guy who bought him. Sure.

Before he could dwell on that, Jason looked back up and asked, “What happened to Donny?”

“He’s in custody,” Wayne said, “He’s facing a lot of charges.”

“Already?” he asked. He’d kind of assumed Donny would be able to escape a raid. He had secret escape passages in the house, after all. Jason didn’t think he was supposed to know about them, but he did. Donny probably thought they’d try to ‘escape’ using them, but none of them were that stupid to even try. 

Wayne grinned again and said, “Yep. Batman dropped him off at Gotham General last night.” 

Jason scrunched his eyebrows, as if that could help him make more sense of that statement. “The hospital?” he asked. Shouldn’t he have gone to jail…?

“Somehow,” Wayne said, like he knew _exactly_ how, “he broke both his legs, all his fingers, and his jaw.” Jason knew exactly how, too. Batman did shit like that, sometimes. 

It was why the mobsters did their best to stay out of Batman’s way. 

And up until Wayne went telling Gordon, Donny _had_ been out of Batman’s way. Batman hadn’t given two shits about what the Falcones were doing in crime alley. In fact, the Falcones _rarely_ had to deal with him. It wasn’t unless one of the idiots directly challenged him did anything happen. 

“Hm,” Alfred said, “Can’t say I feel sorry for the bloke.” 

“No, me either,” Wayne agreed. 

Jason couldn’t tell if Wayne was happy because he hated Donny, or because he was happy he got Jason before the feds took all the boys… 

Batman must not have had much going on, if he followed up on Gordon’s lead so quickly. 

That, or he owed Gordon a favor, and that’s all that was. Because _everyone_ knew about what went on in some of the mob’s houses in Crime Alley. It wasn’t like Batman wasn’t aware. There was just no way. 

Jason’s vision came back into focus when Alfred sat a plate down in front of him, with the newly scrambled eggs next to the bacon. With a weak smile, he said, “Thanks,” and took the fork from Alfred’s hand and started eating. 

There was no use in speculating about any of it. So Donny got beat up and arrested, and the other boys all rescued. That was fine. 

Good, even.

Right?

Because now going back to Donny wasn’t an option at all. And… as long as Donny didn’t trace his problems back to Jason, the mob wouldn’t care about _Jason_ at all. 

And would probably leave him alone. Because it wasn’t _Jason_ who’d done anything. It was all _Wayne._ And if they didn’t find out about that, either, then really he was completely off their radar. 

So now he was staying with Wayne permanently. Probably. It was the most likely outcome. And staying with Wayne could be okay.

He just wished he knew for certain what living with Wayne would entail… 

Although if Wayne brought him his clothes from Donny’s… 

With a breath, Jason pulled the backpack over so it was next to his plate, and slowly unzipped it. 

And… 

Jason had to scrub at his eye, to make it not start leaking.

He wasn’t crying. Nope. Not at all. 

Just had slightly watery eyes. 

Because in his bag wasn’t clothes. There weren’t any clothes at all, actually. 

There _was_ the picture of his mom he’d managed to hang on to over the years, _and_ his teddy bear. 

He’d thought he would never seen them again. 

“One of the other boys pointed out your stuff to Batman,” Wayne said gently, “He was apparently very insistent you got rescued, too.” 

Jason looked up, from where he’d placed his hand on the teddy bear, still inside the bag. He didn’t want to pull it out and hug it, just in case it gave Wayne ideas about what he could do to upset Jason ever. 

“Who?” he finally said, after clearing his throat and taking another steadying breath. Jason hadn’t been close to any of the other boys. He tended to keep to himself… 

“His name was Nick,” Wayne said softly. 

“Oh.” Jason hadn’t realized Nick thought they were friends, or whatever. Nick was the newest boy, and he cried a lot. He was little, but Jason was pretty sure Donny was close to just selling him off for how much trouble he was. 

But Jason was still nice to him, and stuff. Obviously. He was just a little kid. And sometimes Nick asked him to read to him, so he did. But usually Nick went and played games with the other boys, or just cried in his bed until someone told him to shut up. 

Jason was glad Batman got him away. He just hoped wherever _protective custody_ was, was actually safe. 

Inside the bag were also three of his books, so Jason reached in and pulled them out. He’d had a few dozens books at Donny’s but he figured it was asking _way_ too much to keep them all. It would have been hard for Batman to pass them along, probably. 

Plus, they were all just books from thrift stores and stuff. Nothing that couldn’t easily be replaced. His picture and bear, though… 

“Apparently Batman got the books it looked like you used the most,” Wayne said, startling Jason back into focus, “Or were maybe working in, currently?”

With a quick review of the titles, Jason nodded. It was his current math workbook, which he was almost done with, and the British Literature book he’d just started. Then, the only novel was _Alice in Wonderland,_ which he was in the middle of. He’d been storing all three of the books next to his pillow, so maybe that was why Batman took them. 

Good. Now he could finish _Alice in Wonderland._

“You must like reading,” Wayne said. 

“Uh,” he mumbled, “it’s just homeschool stuff.” 

He did like reading, but he didn’t like telling people that. Although it was probably too late, since he’d gone and talked about reading with Alfred, and Alfred immediately told Wayne about it. 

Which was fine. Perfectly okay. Wayne _said_ he wanted to find things Jason liked. Jason could only hope he meant that in a good way, so Jason wouldn’t be bored when he was alone. 

“That’s good,” Wayne said, “I’m glad you were keeping up with your studies.” 

Did that mean he’d encourage Jason continuing them… Obviously, right? Cause he’d said school last night… 

“Have you seen our library?” Wayne asked. 

Jason hesitated, and answered, “No.” Because he hadn’t. 

_There was a library?_ No wonder he couldn’t find books. They were being stored in a _library._

How on earth had he missed it? Although, he hadn’t really explored anywhere near Bruce’s study. And it would make sense if it was near the study. 

“Would you like to see it?” Bruce asked, and Jason had to work hard not to nod too eagerly. Of _course_ he wanted to see it.

If there was really a library, and Jason was allowed to use it, he didn’t even _care_ what was going on. He’d be able to deal with it. 

Like, seriously. Alfred was going to let him read some of his books. He got _Alice in Wonderland_ back, _and_ his bear and picture. Wayne seemed good with Jason getting an education. 

_And there was a library._

Yep. Jason could deal with anything that came along with it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go :) I know a few of you kept saying you wanted this to happen.


	12. Chapter 12

Alfred made Jason finish eating before he could see the library. 

Well, he’d said, ‘ _Let the lad finish his breakfast first, sir,’_ but Jason knew he’d actually been telling Jason to eat.

So Jason downed the glass of orange juice Alfred sat in front of him and finished off the bacon and eggs and quickly as he could. So much for not looking excited, he thought, as he finished up.

“Ready?” Wayne asked, and Jason just nodded as he jumped down off the stool.

He was _so_ ready.

Jason followed Wayne down the hall and toward the study, just where he’d anticipated the library would be. As it turned out, it was behind the set of french doors right down the hall from it. 

And when Wayne opened them and motioned for Jason to walk on in, he just froze there. Right in the doorway.

Now he knew what Belle felt like in _Beauty and the Beast,_ when Beast gave her the library.

No flipping wonder she fell for him. A library as beautiful as that was worthy of love. 

And the library in front of him was just as gorgeous as her’s had been. Wayne was just letting him _use_ it, and Jason was thrilled. 

“Wow,” Jason breathed, as he looked around. He _could_ use it, right?

Every wall was covered in bookshelves, spanning two stories in height all the way around. There were even library ladders that rolled around on a track, and right in the middle of the room was a large seating area with the most comfortable looking couches ever. 

To think, he’d thought the book section at Goodwill was where it was at. 

_Guess there was no need to convince Wayne to buy some thrift books every once in a while._

Wayne chuckled a little, as he slid past Jason and into the room. “We have a good collection,” he said, on his way over to the seating area, “but if you ever want to read something we don’t have, let us know. Alfred or I can order it for you.” 

_Order_ it?

He’d just _order_ any book Jason wanted?

What was the catch?

And was it a price Jason was willing to pay? He’d already been doing so much just for the few books and moderate protection Donny offered him…

But Wayne was supposedly going to protect him against all the gangs, and not rent him out, and possibly send him to school? 

There _had_ to be a catch. Alfred was lying and there was a catch.

Wayne sat down on one of the couches and looked at Jason expectantly, though Jason wasn’t sure what he expected…

Did he want Jason to sit with him? Probably not, he hadn’t, like, motioned for Jason to follow or anything. 

Jason was so lost. Usually he knew by the 24-hour mark exactly what a client liked and wanted from him. Hell, usually by the _one_ hour mark he knew all that. But with Wayne he had no fucking clue. 

Why couldn’t he just make fucking _sense?_

“Go ahead,” Wayne said, gesturing at the stacks around them, “look around. If you find anything you want, you can bring it to your room, or wherever you want to read it.” 

This was a dream. 

Had to be.

No way was it real. Where Wayne just… let him loose at the library without a favor first. 

And there was absolutely no way Alfred was telling the truth about Wayne. Jason just didn’t see it possible that Wayne was dangling everything Jason wanted right in front of him and _honestly_ didn’t want stuff from him in return. That was not how people worked. And it was _certainly_ not how _rich_ people worked.

But whatever was going to happen would happen, regardless, so Jason walked over to the nearest shelf and started browsing. 

All he could find on the first four bookcases was psychology books.

 _Psychology._ What kind of a freak was Wayne, that he had that many books on how people _thought._ And a lot a lot of them were specifically forensic psychology books. Like. Criminals? 

Jason understood having a _few_ books on the topic, but multiple bookcases full? What the fuck? 

“What kind of books do you like to read?” Wayne asked, as Jason moved further down the line of shelves, letting his fingers brush against the spines of the books. 

“I dunno,” he replied honestly. Whatever Donny got him, most recently. Although he was partial to classics. Donny had given him a copy of _Twilight_ and _Harry Potter_ and while he didn’t particularly hate them, they just couldn’t compare to _Pride and Prejudice._

And before Donny had him, he really hadn’t had time to read much. He’d dropped out of school to take care of his mom, and when he did that, he lost access to the school library. Considering he couldn’t even scrape together enough to make rent, some months, he certainly couldn’t afford cheap books at the store… 

The next major section Jason found looked to be history, with a major focus on Gotham history. Which made sense, kind of. 

“You really like non-fiction,” Jason observed, as he continued to skim past the books. Funny enough, next was _more_ books related to the law. It looked like these ones were actual law books. Like. ‘This is the law of the country’ type books. 

Wayne was nuts. 

Didn’t he, like, own a company? It wasn’t like he was a cop or a lawyer. 

Unless he studied all this shit so he could know how _not_ to get caught doing illegal shit… that would make sense. 

“I do find non-fiction more interesting,” Wayne said, “but there’s a lot of fiction on this side over here.” 

Jason looked to see where he was pointing at the opposite side of the library, and went to check it out. 

Sure enough, that entire half of the library seemed to be fiction.

 _Much_ better. 

Although Jason wouldn’t have turned down reading the non-fiction stuff if that was all he found. Maybe _he_ could be a lawyer one day. 

He could be a lawyer, right? Totally. The only question would be if people would _hire_ him. To be a lawyer. 

And, the whole, if he could make it through school and actually be good at it, and stuff. 

Doing something like _that_ would probably require he do way more than homeschool himself with random workbooks… 

“Alfred prefers fiction,” Wayne said, while Jason continued browsing, “he’ll talk your ear off about what he’s reading if you let him.”

Jason smiled, a little, and said, “Cool.” He’d very much like someone to talk with about books. Most of the other boys didn’t want to hear it, and Donny only sometimes let Jason ramble to him. And he supposed that would never happen again, what with Donny being arrested and the other boys rescued. 

But so far Alfred had been fun to talk to. Well, mostly. When he wasn’t trying to convince Jason Wayne was a total gentleman, or whatever.

With a breath, Jason refocused himself on looking through the books. There were a ton he wanted to read, just on the first two bookcases he looked through. In the end, though, he picked out the second book after _Harry Potter,_ just because he felt he should read the rest of the series, as well as _Through the Looking-Glass,_ for almost the same reason. 

If he was going to be with Wayne for a long time, he probably had plenty of time to read _all_ the books. 

Once he had the two books in his hands, he turned around and stared at Wayne for a second, unsure. Bolting straight to his room to read would probably just piss Wayne off. Plus, he’d left his backpack in the kitchen, like an idiot, and it would be difficult to run to the kitchen, grab it, then go to his room. 

But he hadn’t wanted to bring it when he and Wayne were going to be alone… 

And it’s not like his room was any different than the library. It was all Wayne’s domain. 

That was one thing he was going to miss about Donny’s. The dormitory was never a place for work. Not even for the rich assholes who showed up at random times during the day and paid double for an hour. 

“What’d you pick out?” Wayne asked, 

Jason walked over toward the couch, and held the books out for Wayne to look at, but Wayne didn’t take the books. Just nodded and said, “Dick loved that _Harry Potter_ series. He dragged me to those movies as they were coming out.” 

So Wayne took Dick to the movies, too. Movies, toys, college… Alfred said Wayne treated Dick well and would treat Jason well, too. 

“I read the first one,” Jason said, just to say something. He needed to be better about that. Be better about… being friendly. To Wayne. 

If he wanted Wayne to treat him well, that was. And he did. Because the alternative was… he didn’t even know. He didn’t want to know. 

Jason sat on the couch, on the other end from Wayne. He wasn’t sitting right _next_ to him, but Wayne could easily reach him. If he wanted to. Jason pulled his legs up onto the couch and crossed them, then set the books down in his lap so he could maybe peruse one. 

There was no way he’d be able to focus.

“The first one was okay,” Wayne said, “I read it just to understand what the hell Dick was talking about. I think the third one was my favorite, but it’s been a while.” 

“How old is Dick?” Jason asked. He had a guess, considering he _just_ moved out, but it was good to know for sure. 

“Eighteen,” Wayne said, confirming Jason’s suspicions. 

He wouldn’t be surprised if Dick was _newly_ eighteen, too. And that’s why he moved out. 

Because who left for college in June? No one. Was Dick even out of school yet? 

Did Dick even go to high school?

“Where is he going to college?” 

“Hudson University,” Wayne answered, smiling brightly. The bastard was _proud_ of him, wasn’t he? “He intends on studying business.” 

Jason had never heard of Hudson University, but if pressed, he’d guess it was in New York. Because, Hudson River. Duh. 

He looked back down at the books in his lap, and started running his fingers across the edge of the top book, letting the pages make a flipping noise as he dragged it up. 

Dick… Dick really did get to just leave. Sure, New York was just one state up, but it was probably at least several hours away. And Bruce was _proud_ Dick had left. 

If Jason played his cards right, he was sure he could be like Dick, one day. He could. He just needed to get way better at being _friendly._ Do stuff with Wayne like Dick did. Like… watch movies. And, and, legos. 

Why was it out of _all_ the things Jason could do, _that_ was what made his skin feel all squirmy?

Wayne shifted, so he was facing Jason more, and said, “I’ll call him later, see when he’s coming to visit so you can meet him.” 

“He doesn’t have to come meet me,” Jason mumbled. He didn’t want to be the reason Wayne made Dick do anything. Especially not when he _just_ got away. 

“I’m sure he’ll be mad at me, if I put off telling him about you much longer,” Wayne said, “and as soon as I tell him about you, he’ll want to come meet you. Especially if you’re here for a while.” 

Jason looked up and saw Wayne smiling at him softly. So he just nodded. Nodded, then asked, “You said I’ll be here for a few years?” He supposed Gordon _could_ move him to another family, later. But he kind of doubted any of that would happen. And if he could prove Wayne he was worth keeping… Jason wouldn’t have to worry about learning _another_ house. _Again._

“Maybe,” Wayne said, with a shrug, “I don’t know. It depends on how quickly things move with this case.” 

“What case?” Jason asked, furrowing his brow. What was Wayne even talking about?

Wayne raised an eyebrow at Jason, as if _he_ were the one being stupid, and said, “This human trafficking case against Donny Falcone and anyone else that gets implicated in it.”

Human _what?_ The hell was he even talking about? Jason thought Donny was just arrested for pimping out kids. _Prostitution is a crime committed against a child,_ Wayne had said. So Donny was the one going down for what Jason did. 

Or… well. What Donny had Jason and the other boys do. So he figured that made sense. He _was_ a pimp, and pimps _were_ illegal. 

“It all depends on whether they need you. If they do, then you’ll likely be with me longer. But if they don’t, then it’ll be safe to move you to a foster family sooner.” 

“Need me for what?” Jason asked. 

He didn’t like the sound of that. 

He didn’t like the sound of that _at all._

“For testifying,” Wayne said, and Jason was so right. 

“No way man,” Jason said, maybe a little too loudly, “I’m not a snitch!” Everyone knew what happened to snitches. 

And it was _not_ stitches. 

If he could just melt away and stay out of the mob’s line of sight, they’d forget all about him and leave him alone! But if he went _testifying._

Fuck _no._

“Jason,” Wayne started, and Jason could just _tell_ he was about to say something about _helping_ or _you have to._

Well no he didn’t have to! He would do literally anything for Wayne, but like _hell_ was he going to testify against Donny just because he told him to. He doubted Wayne would do worse to him than what the mob would, if he fucking _testified._

“I’ll tell them what _you_ do,” Jason cut in, before Wayne could even try to argue he had to. He _would,_ too. There was probably at least one lawyer or cop that wasn’t corrupt there, and they’d arrest Wayne. Especially with the FBI involved. 

Wayne wasn’t expecting Jason to threaten him, apparently. Because he sat back, like Jason had slapped him, and stared. 

Very calmly, though, Wayne asked, “What is it I do?” 

“I don’t know yet!” Jason said, a little hysterically, “You weren’t even home last night!” 

With a loud, suffering sigh, Wayne closed his eyes and rubbed at his forehead. After a moment, he ended up placing his hand on the side of his face, his thumb under his chin and his finger up near his eye. And he just stared at Jason, for another long moment. 

“Okay,” he finally said, “I don’t know how to convince you of this.”

Convince him of _what?_

“Look,” Wayne continued, “I understand why you’re afraid and why you don’t trust me, and _no one_ is going to make you do anything you don’t want to do—“

“Yeah, right,” Jason cut in, before his brain told him to _shut it._ He was just _asking_ to get smacked. 

_That was better than testifying!_

Wayne ignored him, though. Didn’t seem fazed at all, and pressed on with, “—but even if I _was_ home last night, nothing would have been different.” 

Jason rolled his eyes. 

“You would have slept, alone, in your room, completely undisturbed. Just like you did. And if I’m home tonight, the same thing will happen, because I will _never_ hurt you.” 

“What do you mean ‘if’ you’re home,” Jason asked. Was Wayne seriously bailing _again?_ He would highly appreciate _knowing_ what the hell was expected of him sooner, rather than later. 

As nice as the break was, the fucking anxiety of not knowing was killing him.

“I, well,” Wayne stammered, “I go out most nights.” 

“What? Where?”

With another shrug, Wayne said, “Parties, dates, clubs, it varies.” 

He _was_ a playboy, Jason supposed. He just hadn’t considered that meant Wayne was never _home_ at night. 

Could Jason actually trust his nights to be quiet…? 

That… that wouldn’t be so bad. And if he could convince Wayne to send him to school… 

There would only be a window of time with Wayne each day. 

“But regardless, Jason, it doesn’t matter. Because nothing is ever going to happen. You are _safe_ in my house, okay?” 

“I’m still not testifying,” Jason said, crossing his arms. There was no way he could convince Jason to do that.

“You might not need to,” Wayne said, “but I meant it when I said you won’t be forced to do something you don’t want to. We can discuss it later, if it ever comes up, okay? They might have enough on him to not need your testimony.” 

_Or_ the mob would break him out, first. Or the DA would drop the case, because the Falcones paid him off. Or they’d find some _other_ technicality to get him off on, before the charges are even brought. 

Like what happened with _most_ the mob members who ended up in jail.

Wayne sighed, then pat at the couch cushion between them a couple times. “Okay, all right kiddo. I need to get some work done, so I’ll be in the study. Feel free to come get me if you need me, okay?” 

“Sure,” Jason said, following Wayne with his eyes as he got up and crossed the room. 

Again, there was no way Jason would go bothering Wayne. Any moment he didn’t _have_ to spend with him he would _not_ be spending with him. 

“All right,” Wayne said again, at the doorway. He paused there, for a moment, just staring at Jason. Then shook his head and left the room without another word. 

Jason pulled the books up to his chest, and focused on staying calm. 

If Wayne was really gonna leave him alone again most the day, then he could at least go get his backpack, and then go to his room and read. 

He just wished shit made fucking _sense._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look it's 3am oops. I've been writing on this since, like, 6pm. 😐 So this one took a minute. LOL I'm not at all out of scenes I've got drafted (I've legit got 15 more chapters at various stages of drafted...), but I AM at a spot where I need to figure out what happens between now and the next scene I have drafted so that's fun. Hopefully I get another chapter out as quickly, but we'll see! It's weekend again and I start back in person at work next week. 
> 
> Thanks for reading guys!! I'm going to try to answer more comments later today. Thanks for leaving them. ❤️


	13. Chapter 13

Jason understood absolutely nothing. 

The next few days passed in relative peace. He slept in his room each night, on the couch, and was never once bothered. In fact, if Jason was in his room, _no one_ bothered him. Not Bruce, not Alfred. They were pretty adamant Jason not skip meals, but if Jason was in his room when a meal was ready, they didn’t even come get him for it. Alfred heated him up a plate later, when he _did_ come out of his room, instead. 

It was insane. Jason didn’t understand a _thing._

Wayne made himself scarce, too. Jason saw him, like, three times total in the three days since he’d been bought. Or, ‘brought home,’ since Wayne got all huffy when Jason said the word _bought._

Whatever. 

Jason considered testing how long they’d leave him alone, by staying in his room all day long on the fourth day, but that didn’t last long. He finished reading _Through the Looking Glass_ that morning, and by lunch time he was _starving,_ so he found himself wandering into the kitchen, anyway. 

Besides, if he wanted Wayne to like him and keep him, purposely avoiding him was a dumb route to take. He’d much rather it be _Wayne_ avoiding _him_ than the other way around. 

“Ah, Mas-“ Alfred started, before he smiled and corrected to, “Jason, it is good to see you today. I am preparing Bruce a panini for lunch, what would you like on yours?”

With a shrug, Jason climbed up on one of the stools to watch how Alfred made _paninis._ So far he’d liked everything Alfred made him, so he had no true preference.

“I am preparing Bruce a prosciutto caprese, does that sound good to you?”

Alfred also tended to make _fancy_ food, so Jason _really_ had no preference. Because he had no idea how to even ask for fancy food. “I don’t know what that is,” he admitted, after Alfred smiled at him patiently. 

“It is prosciutto, tomatoes, mozzarella, and parmesan, toasted together into a sandwich,” Alfred said, as he pulled out all the bread he needed to make a couple. 

Jason recognized _most_ of what Alfred said, but did asked, “What is prosciutto.” So far Alfred had been awesome about teaching Jason things he didn’t know. Never once had he laughed that Jason didn’t know something.

Alfred was awesome, honestly. 

“It is dried ham,” Alfred said, as he pulled out a slice of what must have been the _prosciutto,_ and tore Jason off a little piece. 

“Oh,” he said, after he’d tasted the ham. It was, indeed, ham. But definitely fancier. “That’s good, yeah.” 

“Wonderful, then I will prepare you a prosciutto caprese, as well.” 

“Thanks.” Jason rested his head down into his hand, as he just watched Alfred work. It only took a minute for Wayne to appear in the doorway, too, just like he usually did. Always on time for lunch. 

“Good morning, lad,” Wayne said, as he stepped into the room and picked one of the stools not right next to Jason. 

“It’s noon,” Jason said, trying his best to keep his face flat. Wayne usually frowned at him, whenever he smiled, so he was trying not to smile at him. 

Wayne was one weird dude, that was for sure. 

“Okay,” he said, “Then good afternoon, lad. Did you sleep well last night?” 

Jason merely shrugged. He’d slept just as well as he ever did. 

“If you need anything for your room,” Wayne said, “Let me know. We can get you different blankets, or a fan, or nightlight, or whatever you need to sleep better.” 

“We might even have some of those things already,” Alfred added, “There are dozens of blankets all over if you want different ones.” 

“I’m fine,” Jason said. He actually really liked the blanket he had. It was very cozy. It, along with his bear, mean he actually slept rather soundly. With the door shut, that was. And maybe on the couch… 

He needed to try and sleep in his bed again. What if Wayne walked in one night and found him on the couch? What would he say? 

More than likely he’d flip his shit.

So, yeah. Jason should _really_ try to sleep on the bed again. Maybe with his bear it would be easier, now. 

Because a fucking _stuffed animal_ made any damned difference… 

“That’s good,” Wayne hummed, as he leaned forward and snatched the newspaper from the center of the island. The room went quiet again as he started reading, so Jason rested his head back down and just watched Alfred work. 

Jason really did like the peace. 

It took Alfred about five more minutes to make their sandwiches, and when they were done he added a generous serving of chips to the plate, and slid both across the counter to Jason and Bruce. 

“There you are,” he said, “now what can I get you to drink?” 

“Some iced tea would be good,” Bruce said. Jason merely shrugged, so Alfred pulled out two glasses and poured them both iced tea. 

Once he sat the glasses down in front of them, and Jason thanked him, he _left the fucking room._

Just. 

Left. 

And Jason decided sitting there quietly was _not_ what he was going to do. Silence around Wayne was so fucking uncomfortable. 

“I read _the Chamber of Secrets_ yesterday,” he said, after taking a bite of his panini. Which was delicious, of course. Everything Alfred made was delicious. 

Wayne looked up, and looked mildly impressed as he asked, “The whole thing?”

Why were they always fucking _surprised_ he could read? “Yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes a little, “it’s not _that_ long.” In fact, he’d read a lot of _Oliver Twist,_ too. 

Wayne hadn’t been kidding about the free rein of the library thing, because no one stopped him when he kept going back and looking through the books. Jason was tempted to just bring a dozen or so to his room, so he’d always have options when he finished what he was reading, but he hadn’t done that yet. 

He probably could, though. 

“Did you like it?” Wayne asked, so Jason merely shrugged.

“It was okay.” Definitely not his favorite. 

“I’ll admit,” Wayne said, nodding as if he agreed, “I liked the movies better than the books.” 

Jason looked back up from his half eaten panini and tried not to smile. “Really? No one _ever_ says things like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bruce said, grinning a little, “Dick is horrified at me for that, but it is what it is.” He paused, long enough to take a bite of his food, then said through a half-full mouth, “We can have a movie night sometime, if you want. Watch each movie once you finish the book.” 

“That’s fine,” he said, shrugging again. He knew Wayne wanted to do kid stuff like that with him. He didn’t understand _why_ Wayne wanted that, but whatever. 

If that was how he got his rocks off, whatever. 

“Jase,” Wayne said, through a sigh, “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. I’m not going to force you to spend time with me.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Jason said, his voice almost convincing as he looked back at his food, “I want to.” Maybe he didn’t _want_ to spend time with Wayne, but he wanted Wayne to _like_ him and want to keep him, and if it took acting like his kid to do that, then Jason could do that. 

Which was another reason why hiding from him was a stupid plan and he shouldn’t have even entertained the thought for a second. 

And, sure, sitting on a couch watching a movie with him might be far less comfortable than sitting at the island, chatting over lunch, but it _would_ be fine. Even if Wayne got all handsy, it was gonna happen eventually. He might as well not make it painful for himself by refusing all of Wayne’s advances. 

“All right,” Wayne said, with clear doubt in his voice, “but hey, one thing we absolutely need to do is get you in with the doctor.” 

Jason snapped his attention back to Wayne and demanded, “What? Why?” 

He _hated_ going to the doctor. Shots and blood draws and poking and prodding an _no._

Fuck _all_ that. 

If he never had to see another doctor for the rest of his _life_ that’d be great. 

At least he’d probably never have to see Donny’s doctor again… That guy was a major asshole and Jason _hated_ him. 

“You need a physical,” Wayne said calmly, “just to make sure everything is okay. Run some tests, check your levels, nothing serious.” 

Oh. _Run some tests._

Jason _finally_ understood. 

Wayne didn’t want to catch anything, and _that’s_ why he wouldn’t come near him. Jason didn’t blame him, catching stuff _sucked,_ but he was pretty sure he was clean. 

He’d been clean last time the doc came and visited, at least. 

And when the boys caught anything permanent, well… Donny didn’t keep them around. 

The kind of clients that hired Donny’s boys were not cool with catching HIV for the price they paid. 

“But I’m clean,” Jason tried. That was _another_ upside to being permanent with Wayne. Not seeing a ton of clients each week meant he probably never had to worry about catching shit again, unless Wayne himself caused it. 

“Excuse me?” Wayne asked, giving Jason a confused look. 

Like he didn’t know exactly what Jason meant. _Obviously_ Jason would figure out exactly what Wayne was after, with this whole doctor thing. 

“Donny got us tested regularly,” he said, “I was clean just three weeks ago.” 

Wayne looked pained, and said slowly, “That’s… good.” 

“I guess I coulda caught something since, but probably not. I feel fine.” 

“Have you,” Wayne started, than paused to clear his throat, “Have you caught anything before?” 

Yep. Jason was right. He just wanted to make sure _he_ wouldn’t catch shit. 

Smart, he supposed. 

With a shrug, Jason said, “Nothing antibiotics couldn’t fix.” 

“Okay,” Wayne said, slowly as he nodded a little absently, “That’s uh. Okay. Dr. Thompkins is just going to do a physical and make sure everything is okay, so we know what’s going on. All kids get physicals.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Jason said, trying to turn his attention back to his food, “I get it.” At least now he knew the time line. 

He could handle that.

“Okay,” Wayne said, “I’ll call her after lunch and see when she can see us.” 

“That’s fine.” 

Yep. If everything started making fucking sense, he’d be able to handle it just fine, and _finally_ something was making sense. 

After lunch, Wayne disappeared into his study, so Jason camped out in the library and started reading the third _Harry Potter_ book. 

But it only took fifteen minutes for Wayne to appear in the door, letting him know that _Dr. Thompkins can see us this afternoon._

He must have paid a pretty penny to get an appointment so quickly… Jason had never heard of getting appointments that fast. Which meant he was getting impatient about not being able to do shit with Jason, yet. 

So he could probably expect his break to end that night… or in however long it took to get the test results back, he supposed. Jason actually didn’t know if lab results could come back faster for money, or if it was, like, a process regardless. 

“We’ll leave in three hours,” Wayne said, and Jason merely nodded. 

Three more hours of guaranteed peace. Jason could deal with that. 

And maybe spend it collecting up books to store in his room… 

That seemed like the best use of his time.

\- - - 

The doctor’s office was in Gotham proper. Not only was it in Gotham, but it was in _Crime Alley._

Which kind of explained why Wayne had picked his _Volkswagen_ to drive them, and not one of the cool cars. It still wasn’t a cheap car. Wayne probably paid, like, 40k for it, but it was _nothing_ compared to all the 80k+ cars he had in his garage. Or the ones that cost closer to half a million… 

But driving expensive cars into Crime Alley was just _asking_ to get your car jacked. Or, at the very least, your tires stolen. A Volkswagen would be left alone, most likely. So Jason understood. 

He’d still been a little disappointed, though, when Wayne led him to the _Passat._

“I’ve been seeing Dr. Leslie since I was a little boy,” Wayne said, as he led Jason into the office. 

Which still didn’t explain why they were in _crime alley,_ but the office was called the _Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic_ so maybe that _did_ explain it. 

‘Doctor Leslie’ was an old woman, Jason quickly learned. An old woman that could give Bruce crap, just like Alfred could. 

Because when Dr. Leslie asked, “So what are your concerns, today,” and Bruce opened his mouth, she immediately shut him up with a sharp, “I was asking Jason, if you don’t mind.” 

“Uh,” Jason stammered, from where he was sitting on the exam table, Wayne sat in one of the chairs and Leslie sitting at her computer, smiling at him, “Well. He wanted me to get a physical, and stuff.” 

“Do you have any concerns,” she asked again, “Are you in any pain, have any symptoms, anything like that?”

“No, I’m fine.” 

“Okay,” she said, as she started clicking at the computer, pulling up what looks liked a form or something to fill out, “I’ve got to ask you a bunch of questions for the computer, please answer them honestly.” 

“Sure.” Jason was rarely honest about anything, but all her questions had to do with _smoking_ and _drugs_ and _alcohol._ Jason could proudly say _no_ he didn’t do drugs or drink. He’d had cigarettes, a few times, but he didn’t smoke often. Or regularly. Donny knew Jason _hated_ drugs, so he usually didn’t even bother giving him to client who wanted their boy to shoot up with them, or whatever. Because he knew Jason would throw a fit and refuse, and no amount of beatings would fix it. And since very few clients liked that sort of thing, it didn’t really matter. 

But even just answering that _yeah,_ he smoked sometimes made Wayne frown hard. And when he answered _I don’t know,_ to questions like _What shots have you gotten?_ Or _Have you ever had chicken pox._

She started asking him harder and harder questions, too. When she asked ‘ _do you feel safe, at home,’_ Jason wondered why asking such a question was even _helpful._

With Wayne was sitting right there, obviously he wouldn’t say anything but “Yeah.” 

Wayne sighed, however, when he _did,_ and Jason shifted on the table a little. What the fuck did he want? Jason to say _no,_ I don’t feel safe because Wayne gets mad at stupid times and he wasn’t sure when the other shoe was _finally_ gonna drop? 

Doctors had to call the cops. He _knew_ that. If Dr. Leslie was a real doctor, that was. Donny’s doctor obviously didn’t have to call the cops, because he never did. Not even when he was setting the arm of one of the boys when Donny fucking _broke it._

Which was super illegal and something a normal doctor would be forced to report. Even if social services did more harm than help, in pretty much any situation. 

“Bruce,” Dr. Leslie admonished, “be patient.” 

“I’m being patient,” he argued. But his tone was still all exasperation, and Jason was glad he wasn’t the only one who was picking up on it.

Even if he _didn’t_ want the doctor to go reporting Wayne for whatever reason. 

“No, you aren’t,” she shot back, “And it’s not helping. Why don’t you sit in the hall, so I can speak to Jason alone.” 

“Don’t you need an adult in the room,” Wayne said, a little weakly. 

But Dr. Leslie said, “Not if the guardian consents.” She gave Wayne a glare, as she did, so he just nodded and turned to Jason.

“Are you okay talking to her alone?” 

Why wouldn’t he be okay with that? Wayne was _not_ his parent. He did not need him in the room, to make him comfortable, or whatever. 

With a shrug, Jason said, “Yeah, whatever,” and watched as Wayne nodded and stood up. 

“Okay. I’ll be right outside if you need me.” 

_I won’t,_ Jason thought, but didn’t say. He tried not to think too hard about how his shoulders relaxed, a little, when the door shut behind Wayne. 

“Okay, honey,” Dr. Leslie said, “I know Bruce can be a bit overbearing when he’s around.” 

“He’s fine,” Jason said, with a shrug. He just wished he knew what the fuck always set him off.

If Jason could figure that out, he’d _honestly_ be able to say ‘yeah, I feel safe.’ Because he’d know how to be safe. 

“Listen, Bruce told me about how he met you and the kind of… work you did. We’re going to need to run a full screen for STIs, and all that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jason cut in, but she just smiled and kept going.

“But it is perfectly okay for you to not feel safe in his house, all right dear? If you _don’t_ feel safe, you can tell me that. I would be surprised if you _did_ feel safe in his house, so soon after him getting custody of you.” 

Jason crossed his arms across his stomach and averted his eyes, a little. “I’m fine,” he finally said, “He hasn’t done anything bad.” 

Except for the whole, buy him thing. But even that, arguably, had been a good thing. Net positive, or whatever. Because Jason hadn’t had to work in several days, and likely would never have to work _as much_ as he had been, before. 

“That’s good,” Dr. Leslie said, “But if he ever _does_ do anything bad, or anything to make you feel unsafe or uncomfortable or scared or anything, you can tell me that, too. My number one priority is the safety of my patients, and that includes you, okay?”

Right, because she’d turn Wayne over to the police after seeing him since he was a little boy. Jason totally bought _that._

She went ahead and continued on with the physical, with Wayne still standing outside. When she had him take his shirt off, he found himself thankful she’d kicked him out…

Not that he _should_ care, since Wayne would eventually see him, anyway, but he was just thankful not to have lustful eyes staring at him while he was being looked at by a doctor. 

“If you’re uncomfortable, tell me,” Dr. Leslie said. She was looking at his back, and inspecting what, he had no idea. 

He was pretty sure he didn’t have any bruises, at the moment. But maybe she’d found one, he had no idea. 

“I’m okay,” he said. Because he was. With Wayne out of the room. 

“Okay, I’m going to listen to your lungs now. My stethoscope should be warm.” 

Ah. So she’d been warming up the stethoscope, then. 

The rest of the physical went on like that. She looked him over head to toe, and talked him through the entire thing. 

She was actually really nice, and Jason felt himself a ton more relaxed by the end of it. Even though he usually hated doctors, and hated having to let them look at him… 

“All we have left to do is the blood draw, and that’ll happen down the hall, okay?” 

“I don’t need any shots?” he asked, before his brain could object that reminding the doctor might mean _she’d_ remember he needed shots… 

“We’ll wait on those until we can determine what you’ve already had. If we can’t figure that out, we’ll make a plan in a couple months to get you all caught up, okay?” 

Jason pulled his shirt back over his head, then nodded once he had it pulled down on and properly. 

“Otherwise, you look perfectly healthy. I’d like to see you put on a few extra pounds, but assuming your bloodwork comes back okay, I don’t see any problems.” 

“We did have a doctor taking care of us,” Jason mumbled. Although he was glad he didn’t have, like, cancer or whatever. Or whatever it was doctors discovered at check ups. 

“That’s oddly responsible of the Falcones,” she hummed, “but I’m sure Bruce is going to take great care of you, and if he _doesn’t,_ you tell me. I’ll find a way to fix it, okay?”

“Right,” he said. The hell did that even mean?

Although he’d probably find out what she meant, if he ever did have bruises for a check up…

He doubted Wayne would be _that_ irresponsible and take Jason to the doctor with fucking _evidence_ on him. It wasn’t like _Willis_ was ever that stupid… 

Dr. Leslie finished typing up on her computer, then turned the screen off as she said, “Okay. I’ll see you again in a few weeks, most likely. How about we walk down to the nurse’s office and I’ll pass you off to her. She’ll take care of your bloodwork.” 

“Sure,” Jason said, as he hopped up and followed Dr. Leslie when she started leaving the room. 

Wayne was standing outside, leaning against the wall opposite of the door. When it opened, he jumped, a little, then smiled at Jason. 

All Jason could do was smile back. 

He _was_ glad Wayne hadn’t got to see him during the exam, but all he was doing was delaying the inevitable. 

And now he was just one step closer to _fun time._ Once Wayne had the proof in his hands that Jason was clean. 

It was fine, though. That’s what he kept reminding himself, as Dr. Leslie led him and Wayne down the hall, toward the nurse’s office. 

Everything was totally fine. At least _this_ doctor was way nicer than Donny’s had been. And might actually care about his wellbeing, and not just his monetary value to the mob. 

That was one more positive thing to keep in mind. He wasn’t just a means to make money, anymore. He actually _cost_ money, now. 

Yeah. Everything _was_ fine. And once it started making sense, it would be even better. 

At least, he hoped… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys~~~ I finally am writing again, after accidentally taking a week break. Oops. I joined my local nanowrimo discord, and I've been doing sprints with them this weekend, so that's where this came from. :D 700-1200 word bursts, it's been pretty fun. I actually have the next chapter done, too, but I'll hold on to it until tomorrow evening, probably. 
> 
> Thanks for reading my story, and leaving such lovely comments. ❤️ you all.


	14. Chapter 14

“All right, sweetheart,” Dr. Leslie said, once they reached a small room where a nurse was sitting at a desk, putting together a needle, “Nurse Rose here will take good care of you. We just need a few vials of blood so we can make sure everything looks good and you’re just as healthy as you look.” 

“Okay,” Jason said wearily. 

He _hated_ getting his blood drawn. 

Hated needles in general…

But at least he’d worn a short sleeve shirt, and wouldn’t have to take his shirt completely off for the blood draw. _Again._

Nurse Rose looked up and smiled at him, so Jason tried to return it as he stepped further into the room. “Jason, right? Come sit right over here,” she said, gesturing to a chair next to the desk. 

When Jason nodded and crossed the room, Dr. Leslie turned to Wayne and said, “Bruce, can I speak to you for a moment?” 

“Sure,” he said, “I’ll be right back, kiddo.” 

Jason merely shrugged. It wasn’t like he cared. 

“Okay, dear,” Nurse Rose said, once she finished pulling out all the things she needed. The needle. The vials. A little alcohol pad thing, piece of rubber… Jason took a deep breath and tried to stop looking as she rolled her chair near him.

“Which arm would you prefer?” she asked, and Jason just shrugged again. He didn’t care, and he wanted this _over with._

“Then let’s look,” she said with a smile. Rose took his right arm into her hands and had him stretch it out so she could look at the inside of his elbow. She tapped at it a couple times, then repeated the process on his left arm. “Is left arm okay?” 

“Yeah, I don’t care,” he said, maybe a little shortly. 

He needed this over with. 

The longer it dragged out, the more he kept looking down at the needle, the harder it got… He maybe didn’t do well with needles. 

Like. 

Ever. 

Donny had gotten him to stop freaking out every time. Or, stop throwing a fit and fighting, every time…. 

But Donny wasn’t there, threatening him into sitting still. 

Nurse Rose smiled, despite his attitude, and pulled her tray close so she had access to all her little tools. 

Jason closed his eyes and tried to focus on breathing, when she wrapped the rubber around his arm and tied it. It wasn’t like it hurt, or anything. It was just a little tight. 

And it wasn’t like _needles_ really hurt. 

Honestly. 

He could think of a dozen things that hurt _way worse_ than needles that Jason took like a champ. Why Jason started tapping his foot, then, for a fucking _pinch,_ he didn’t know. There was no reason to be freaking out. It was just a damned needle. All it would do was prick him, and then she’d take a bunch of his blood. 

He had this done _all the time._

Really. 

“It’s okay,” Nurse Rose said, “Just take a deep breath, okay?” 

Jason _did._ He _was._

She ripped open the little alcohol wipe packet and cleaned Jason’s elbow. It was cold and smelled strongly.

And didn’t help Jason’s nerves at _all._

“Okay, I need you to be still, can you do that?” 

Jason nodded, then swallowed thickly. He forced his leg to stop shaking, and opened his eyes so he could watch, but was a little horrified to find his vision a little blurry. 

There was no reason for _tears_ to be prickling at his eyes. 

Donny wasn’t even _there_ to beat him if he wasted the doctor’s time. No reason to be getting upset or scared or anything. 

Hell, _Wayne_ wasn’t even there to see how he was acting. 

“Oh honey, it’s okay,” Nurse Rose, when she looked up at Jason’s face, “There’s no reason to be scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Jason said, a little weakly. If she could just _do it,_ he’d get over it and it’d be okay. 

His fear of needles was stupid. It wasn’t even like _all_ needles were bad. 

Just the kind that were filled with drugs…

And he was fairly certain the ones the doctors had _weren’t_ filled with drugs. 

The nurse pat at Jason’s arm and said, “It’s okay if you are, it’s perfectly normal. Lots of kids are afraid of needles.” 

“I’m not,” Jason said again, but he sounded even _less_ convincing that time.

Because his voice fucking _broke._

Why the fuck was he _crying_ over a blood draw? It was the least bad thing that was going to happen to him in the next 24 hours. 

Probably. 

Rose smiled again as she stood, then crossed the room over toward the door. She stuck her head outside and said, “Hey, Clara. Can you go get this young man’s father? He’s with Leslie. Thanks.” She turned back around and said, “We’ll wait for Dad, okay honey?” 

“He’s not my dad,” Jason mumbled. And thank God for that.

He was _glad_ Bruce Wayne wasn’t his dad. Because the mere thought his _dad_ would do what Wayne was gonna do… 

His dad would probably kill Wayne, if he knew Wayne had bought him, actually. 

If only his dad wasn’t in jail, and had fucking _been there…_

“I’m sorry for assuming,” Nurse Rose said, without missing a beat, “We’ll wait for your adult. Will that help?” 

With a shrug, Jason scrubbed at his eyes with his free hand. He’d probably behave better if he had Wayne there threatening him into behaving.

Although he kind of doubted Wayne was gonna come in and threaten him. It wasn’t like Nurse Rose was Wayne’s personal doctor… 

The doctor that saw him at Donny’s house was one the mob employed for just that. Checking out the whores of the mob… And doing whatever else was needed for the mob members, when they did illegal shit and got hurt and couldn’t go to the actual hospital. 

Nurse Rose wasn’t employed by Wayne, so it wasn’t like he could threaten his life in front of her. 

Or maybe he could, Jason had no idea how this whole thing worked. Maybe Wayne _did_ own them.

A minute later, Wayne walked into the room and, sure enough, he looked at Jason with his kind stupid smile as he asked, “Everything all right, Jay?” 

“Yeah,” he replied, scrubbing at the side of his eye one more time as he did, “I’m fine.”

Wayne didn’t buy it. He frowned, a little, and walked closer so he could kneel right next to Jason’s chair, opposite the arm Rose was about to stab. “Afraid of needles, huh?”

“No,” he said, completely unconvincingly, “I’m fine. Just want it over with.”

“Okay,” Wayne said, nodding at the nurse, who sat back down and pulled out the needle. Wayne held his hand out, as if asking _do you want to hold my hand,_ so Jason shook his head. 

He did _not_ want to hold Wayne’s hand. That would not help at all.

“A little pinch,” Nurse Rose said, as she grasped onto Jason’s arm with one hand and brought the needles closer. 

“Hey,” Wayne said, before Jason could react more than have his eyes fill back up with tears, because they were fucking _traitors_ and wanted to keep _crying_ about this _,_ “There’s something you need to think about.”

“What’s that,” Jason asked, a little shakily, trying to avert his attention to Wayne and not Nurse Rose. 

Wayne smiled at him when they made eye contact, then said, “What do you want for dinner?” 

How was that something he had to _think about?_

“I don’t care.” 

“We could go anywhere,” Bruce said, still knelt down right next to Jason. He was actually sitting lower than Jason was, in his seat, so it was a little weird to be looking _down_ at him. “There’s a good sushi place up the road I like, but we could also go get burgers or something if you’d prefer.” 

With a sniffle, Jason shrugged his free shoulder and said again, “I don’t care. Anything’s fine.” 

Nurse Rose pulled out the first vial, and switched it out with the next one, and it took all of Jason’s strength not to pull away from her as she was doing so. The needle wasn’t even hurting. He was overreacting, for sure.

“Hm,” Wayne said, pulling Jason’s attention back to him, “I saw a commercial that Burger King has Pokemon toys. Is that something you’d want?”

Jason scowled. “I don’t want a _kids meal.”_

“Why not?” Wayne asked, a ghost of a smile on his lips, “Not even for a pigachu thing?” 

“ _Pigachu,”_ Jason asked scornfully. He didn’t know much about Pokemon, he’d never played that game, but sometimes the other boys watched it on TV. He certainly knew enough about it to know it was _Pikachu._

 _“_ You’re so old, who doesn’t know it’s _Pikachu?”_

Literally _everyone_ knew it was _Pikachu._

Wayne smiled a little more, and said, “ _No,_ there’s no way. Pigachu makes much more sense.”

Jason scowled and asked, “What? How?” Pigachu sounded _stupid._

“Pokemans are based on animals,” he said, and there was no way he was being serious.

Right?

“ _Pokemans?_ You’re fucking with me, right? Pikachu isn’t even a pig, you idiot.”

“Sure it is,” Bruce said, outright _grinning_ now. He was _definitely_ fucking with him. There was no way he was that infuriating naturally. 

Bruce pulled his phone out and held it so Jason could see it, then opened his web browser and legitimately googled _Pigachu._

“See, look,” he said, once the results popped up and a few drawings of pigs colored like pikachu were at the top, “Right there. Pigachu.” 

“Obviously you’ll find drawings someone did if you google _pigachu,_ you freak,” Jason said, then pointed at the top of the search results and added, “but right there it says ‘ _did you mean Pikachu.’_ ” 

Wayne tapped on the pig drawing and said, “Pigachu, right there.”

“Are you purposely insufferable? How does anyone put up with you?” 

Jason looked back down at his arm, when he felt pressure there, and saw that the nurse had pulled the needle out, and was holding a piece of cotton to his elbow.

He hadn’t even noticed she’d filled the other two vials…

“All done,” she said, with a bright smile, “That wasn’t so bad, was it? Can you hold this in place?” 

With a nod, Jason placed his finger over the cotton ball, and held it in place while the nurse pulled out a box of bandaids. 

“Pick a bandaid,” she said, as she pulled a few out and splayed them out for Jason to see. They were all solid colors, so he pointed at a red one. 

It didn’t _really_ matter what color his bandaid was. He didn’t care. But it was way easier to just pick one without complaining. 

Plus. Red _was_ his favorite color… 

Once she put the bandaid on him, she let him get up and said, “Great job, honey,” and legitimately handed him a tootsiepop.

Like he was a little baby. 

Jason looked at it with so much scorn, it made Bruce laugh. So Jason turned his scowl on him, too. 

“Don’t be like that,” Wayne said, as he led them out of the nurse’s office and toward the front desk, “You got a chocolate one, those are the best.”

“No, the blue ones are the best,” Jason grumbled, but he did open the lollipop and start eating it. He hadn’t had a tootsiepop in _years._

And he’d far rather eat it then, rather than later… there was no telling what later would hold for him. 

At the front desk, Wayne wrote a check for the appointment, even though Jason was fairly certain it was a free clinic… 

But maybe it was only free for poor people, he didn’t know. Or maybe Bruce way paying them off for seeing him and keeping what he was for a secret, that could be possible, too… 

He had no idea. 

_Nothing_ was making sense. Even when he thought it was starting to, all the little pieces still did not fall into place properly. 

Because once they got out to the car, Wayne didn’t mention a word about when lab results would get back, or suggest they actually go back home or _anything_ Jason was expecting of a dude who had paid so much money for him, and had yet to take advantage of that…

In fact, he asked, “So have you decided what you want for dinner?” 

“I don’t care,” Jason mumbled, after he pulled his lollipop out of his mouth. He’d assumed Wayne was just saying stuff to distract him, not actually suggesting they eat out. Which was half the reason he was eating his lollipop. 

Why wouldn’t he want to just go home?

Then again, eating out fit into Wayne’s whole thing of wanting Jason to act like his actual kid… 

He put the wrapper back on his lollipop and set it down on the seat next to him, then just stared at it. 

Apparently Wayne _really_ wanted to know what _Jason_ wanted, because he said, “Well, there are lots of options. Do you have a favorite type of food?”

How did Dick deal with acting like Wayne’s kid? He kind of really wanted to know that. Every time Jason tried to remind himself to be friendly, his stomach started flipping around. 

Doing shit with clients was way easier, because they _rarely_ wanted more than Jason to be all flirty. They didn’t give two fucks about Jason himself. Like what his favorite _anything_ was.

Except maybe his favorite things to do with _them_ was. 

Which the answer to that was _nothing._ But that was obviously a bad answer. 

“Not really,” he said, in answer to Wayne. While he _did_ have foods he preferred, he figured going the route he went with clients was probably best, anyway, so he added, “Whatever you like is fine.” 

“Okay,” Wayne said, a bit slowly, “How about this. Tell me something you _don’t_ like, so I can be sure to avoid that.” 

_Fucking_ Jason’s mind helpfully supplied. Which likely wasn’t going to help. 

What _was_ a food he didn’t like? He’d never really been one to turn down food.

“Kids meals,” he finally said. 

“Yeah, I’ve gathered that much,” Wayne said, with his stupid not-smile on his face again. That was how he smiled in private, wasn’t it? 

Kinda weird. 

“How about pizza? Do you like pizza?”

With a shrug, Jason said, “Yeah.” Even if Jason _was_ picky, who didn’t like pizza?

“Good, I know a great place closer to the house. Even Alfred likes it, and that says a lot, because Alfred _hates_ pizza, usually.” 

Apparently Alfred didn’t like pizza. That didn’t surprise Jason, considering Alfred usually made fancy food. 

He kind of wished Alfred had come with them. Maybe with Alfred there, his stomach wouldn’t be revolting against him, the longer he sat in silence with Wayne driving. Alfred could tell him about _Hard Times,_ and he’d have something to think about that _wasn’t_ trying to figure out how the hell he was supposed to be acting for Wayne. 

Everything was so much easier at Donny’s… 

“Jason,” Wayne said, after Jason wrapped his arms and sank down in his seat a little, watching all the cars they were passing on the interstate. 

He didn’t say anything else, so Jason looked up and saw how he was glancing back at him through the rearview mirror. “Yeah?” he finally asked, when Wayne _still_ didn’t say anything. 

But his eyes weren’t, like, _gazing_ at him or anything. So his attention was just weirding him out, more than anything. 

After another second, during which time Wayne looked back at traffic, he finally said, “You know, it’s okay if you don’t feel safe. I don’t—“ he paused, then frowned as he tapped at the steering wheel, “It doesn’t matter what my feelings on that are. I understand that you don’t feel safe.” 

“I’m fine,” Jason said, a little unsure. Had Dr. Leslie gone and told him he didn’t feel safe. Jason _hadn’t_ told her that, so it was dumb if she had. He’d told _her_ he was fine, too. 

Because he was. 

Or, would be. Once everything finally settled and he knew what the fuck he was supposed to do.

“I’m glad you’re fine, but that doesn’t mean you feel safe,” Wayne said. He looked back at Jason, as if waiting for confirmation, but Jason didn’t know what to say to that. 

He didn’t know how to make Wayne think he felt safe, since _saying so_ didn’t do anything. Why did Wayne even care, anyway? 

“I know the mob can’t get me,” Jason ventured, hoping maybe that’s what Wayne meant? He _did_ feel mostly safe from the mob getting at him. 

That could change, obviously, but he was fairly certain, at the moment, he wasn’t in danger there. The mob had way bigger problems, if Batman really was on a warpath after them. Which, based on the news articles Jason had seen in the paper, he _was._

Some random whore that’d been kidnapped from them was likely the least of their worries. 

“Good, good,” Wayne said, nodding as he checked his blind spot so he could switch lines, “That’s good. And _I’m_ never going to hurt you, ever, either.”

Jason nodded, and said, “Okay.” 

Wayne sighed, like he _always_ did when Jason didn’t say the right thing. But if Jason _lied_ Wayne would sigh, too, so it was just a lose-lose scenario for him. 

At least he hadn’t actually flipped his shit on Jason yet. Maybe _that’s_ what he meant by ‘not hurt’ him. Perhaps _hitting_ kids was his line. Jason would be perfectly fine with that. 

“You’ve probably heard that line a hundred times, huh?” Wayne eventually said.

Jason just shrugged. When Wayne kept waiting on Jason, he said, “I don’t know what you want me to say.” Yeah, he heard ‘that line’ a zillion times. Yeah, it was almost always a lie. What was he supposed to say? Why were they even having this conversation?

“I want you to say whatever _you_ want to say. I’m really not going to hurt you in any way, for any reason, all right?”

What the fuck had Dr. Leslie even said to him? Was it her fault he was talking about this? Or was he just unhappy with Jason getting all nervous around him…

Fuck. 

He wouldn’t be getting fucking nervous or _whatever_ if Wayne just made it clear what the fuck he wanted. And when. 

“Just,” Wayne finally said, as they pulled off the interstate, at the exit he knew the Manor was off of. Eventually. Like, fifteen miles up the road, that was.

Near the interstate was where all the shopping was, and probably the pizza place. 

Wayne tapped at the steering wheel again, then continued, “Just tell me if there’s anything you need me to do, to help you feel safer, okay? I want you to feel safe.” 

Jason merely nodded.

How did he tell Wayne to just tell him when he wanted _whatever_ he wanted? 

He didn’t. Because Wayne would just get all flustered and say “I’m not going to hurt you,” or whatever. Like he had the first day, each time Jason tried to get him to answer that question.

So instead, Jason swallowed and forced a nice smile on his face, and said, “I like supreme pizzas. With lots of black olives.”

It did the trick, because Bruce smiled brightly, like Jason had just made his fucking day by admitting he _liked_ something, the freak. “Then we’ll get a supreme with extra olives,” he said, as he pulled into the parking lot of what looked like a pizza place, “This place makes awesome supreme pizzas.” 

“Cool.” 

Maybe if Jason just took Wayne at his word, and just said whatever he ‘wanted’ to say, he could find a way to stop being so fucking nervous all the time. He could always readjust his approach later, if Wayne turned out to be lying… 

Really, there was nothing more he could do, anyway. But enjoy his pizza and stop worrying about everything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the headcanon that Jason's afraid of needles. So bam. lol 
> 
> I don't have the next chapter done like i did this one (I actually wrote 1k new words for it this evening lol) but I know what it's about. We're about to start hitting minor time skips (like a day here, day there, maybe a week every once in a while) like what happened with the last chapter. Each minute isn't quite so interesting anymore, now that Jason's falling into a routine.
> 
> I know a lot of you are frustrated (in a good way) with Jason's slow progress, but don't worry. We're going to hit a major (ish?) breakthrough soon, followed by another and another. He'll get there, don't worry. :)


	15. Chapter 15

The next three days passed by with no incident. 

Wayne got Jason’s test results back on the third day, and was happy to announce to him that he was 100% clean. Bruce looked far more relived than Jason had even been expecting him to be, when he shared that news with Jason. 

Excited was what Jason expected, maybe not full on _relief._

“Leslie said she wants you to make sure you’re eating enough, and if you do that, you won’t have to see her for a few months,” he said, like it was all excellent news and Jason should be celebrating. 

Then again, to Wayne it _was_ excellent news. And very relieving. Because it meant Jason wouldn’t make him sick. 

“I can do that,” Jason said, as he wrapped his fingers around the book he was reading. Just waiting for Wayne to make his move. 

“Great,” he said instead, “Try not to skip meals, and if you’re ever hungry outside of meal time, help yourself to the pantry. Or ask Alfred to make you something.” 

He could, for sure, help himself to the pantry. Ask Alfred to make him stuff? Maybe not. 

Not unless he was, like, starving. And had missed a meal or something. 

But he could make sure to avoid that. If it meant not going to the doctor very often. 

“So now what,” Jason asked, when Wayne didn’t say anything further.

Like, _okay let’s go upstairs,_ or whatever. 

Wayne looked down at his watch, and said, “I’ve got a meeting at WE in an hour, so I have to get ready for that. Alfred’s out in the garden if you need him.” 

“Oh.” 

When Wayne just left, Jason found himself wandering aimlessly around the manor, completely confused about everything.

And then that night, when Wayne didn’t so much as do _anything_ beyond tell him “good night” after dinner, he felt completely and totally lost.

What the fuck did Wayne _want?_

Jason was clean. He was _there._ What was he waiting for?

He lay awake all night, trying to puzzle it all out.

But his stupid brain wasn’t coming up with any plausible solutions. 

Why the fuck would Bruce Wayne pay a zillion dollars for Jason, then go through all the trouble of making him permanent, just to… not do anything?

Not do anything, _ever?_ He had a hard time believing he _really_ had picked up a little boy and kept him for ten years in a big gigantic mansion all alone with just a butler to witness stuff, and done _nothing_. 

_Then,_ within a month of said little boy growing up and moving out, he went out and picked himself up the first black hair, blue eyed boy he could find, and wanted _nothing_ from him, too. 

Rumors might be _rumors,_ but they were usually based on _something._

And if the entire city of Gotham thought he was a pedophile, well. 

The only solution he could come up with, was perhaps Wayne was waiting for Jason to _like_ him. 

And, like, be willing, or whatever. 

So when Wayne didn’t bother him at all on the fourth day, either, Jason decided to take it into his own hands. 

Wayne went out that night, like he always did. Jason had no idea where to, but he wasn’t anywhere to be found by 11pm, so Jason decided to just wait for him in his bedroom.

Most nights Wayne _did_ go back to his room. The time varied each night. He’d been back as early as midnight and as late as _four_. So Jason ignored his stomach being rude to him, and forced himself past the threshold of Wayne’s room. 

Then he just waited there. Laying on the bed, with his limb splayed out as he watched the fan spin around on the ceiling. 

He hadn’t worn anything special, just the pajamas he’d put on that night. But obviously Wayne wasn’t into _clothes,_ or he would have already bought Jason more of the same stuff Donny had for them. 

But that was fine. Everything was fine. 

That’s what he kept telling himself, all the way until he heard Wayne’s footsteps, sometime just before 2am. 

“Jase?” Wayne asked, when he noticed Jason and stopped in the doorway, “What are you doing?” 

Jason swallowed, and forced his voice to be calm as he said, “Waiting.” 

Wayne paused there, for a moment, as he shifted his weight enough Jason could hear his pajama pants swish. Finally, he asked, “For what? Me?”

“Yeah.” 

He’d been waiting for over a week for him to make his fucking move and get it all over with. He just… he just wanted it over with. 

“Okay,” Wayne said slowly, still standing back in the doorway, “What do you need from me?” 

What did—Wasn’t it _obvious?_

“I—“ Jason started, only to pause and recollect himself as he sat up. He couldn’t sound like he was about to cry. That wouldn’t help. “I need this game to end,” he finished, his voice still sounding a little pleading, but at least not too dramatic.

“What game, lad?” Wayne asked gently.

“This one,” he exclaimed, throwing his arms up dramatically, “This one where you—you, I don’t know! This _game._ I’m here, okay? Just like, stop pretending and get it over with.”

Wayne frowned, hard, and slowly stepped into the room. He closed the door, and stood there for a moment, letting his head rest against the closed door. 

Jason had to take a deep breath to keep himself calm. This was what he _wanted._

He _needed_ this to happen so he could fucking move on and stop freaking out all the time. 

So… so… 

Why the fuck was his heart hammering so hard? Or tears pricking at his eyes?

This was what he _needed_ to happen. 

Finally, after a long minute of silence, Wayne turned around and slowly approached the bed. Jason leaned back up against the headboard, and put all his concentration on not crying. He couldn’t cry. He _couldn’t._

But then Wayne said, “Jay,” and Jason had to clench his teeth to keep himself from bursting into tears right there. 

He wasn’t supposed to call him _Jay._

 _Jay_ was what his dad called him when everything was okay. 

_Jay_ was what his mom called him, when she was clean and happy and proud of him. He had only happy memories associated with _Jay._

 _Jay_ was not supposed to come out of the mouth of his client. Clients weren’t supposed to even _know_ his name, much less let it use it during _this._

“Buddy,” Bruce said, a little softer this time. Jason felt the edge of the mattress dip, just a little. Not enough for it to be him climbing up, though, and only then did Jason realized his vision was blurring all around the edges. He had to blink, _hard,_ to clear it enough so he could look over.

“I’m really not going to hurt you,” Bruce finished, from where he’d pulled a chair over and sat down, right next to the bed, his arms folded across the mattress where he’d rested down his head. 

Why did he always _say_ that? 

“I know,” Jason said, resisting the urge to pull his knees up to his chest and hug them. He knew what that made him look like. “I believe you. It won’t hurt.”

“No,” Wayne said, but Jason cut him off before he could keep going.

Mostly because he’d started crying, and he couldn’t help it.

“I don’t know what you want,” he whined, “You _bought_ me, and, and, you keep not. And— I don’t _know—”_

“Jay,” Bruce said again, the one word so filled with anguish it just made Jason devolve further into his own tears. 

What the fuck was his _game?_

 _“Please,”_ he cried, “I don’t know what you want. Do you want me to beg?”

“No,” Bruce said, firmly, “No, God Jason, no.”

“Then what? Just tell me what you want.” 

“I want,” he said, before clearing his throat and starting over, “I want you to believe me when I say I’m not going to hurt you.”

“But I do believe you,” Jason exclaimed, trying to make his sobs stop, to no avail, “I believe you.” _Obviously_ Wayne wasn’t going to be the kind to force himself on him. He understood that. 

He sniffled, hoping he was done crying. But then another sob hit, so he pulled his legs up close and hugged them with one arm, so he could rest the other on his knees and hide his face a little. Looking scared and little be damned. 

Wayne sat there for a few seconds, just studying Jason. Finally, he asked, “Then what do you think I mean by that?” 

“You won’t be rough?” Jason asked, a little unsure what Wayne was fishing for. But Wayne looked pained, even worse than the first day they’d met and he kept looking like Jason was kicking his puppy, so he tried, “Or hit me?”

It didn’t make it any better. 

“No, Jay,” Bruce said, but paused so he could bury his face in his hands. He took a long breath in, then let it out slowly. 

Jason scrubbed his eyes, and hoped he wasn’t about to flip his shit on him. 

Finally, he moved his hands so he could see Jason, and said very calmly, “No. I meant I won’t touch you at all. Not sexually, not _ever_.” 

Just when Jason had gotten himself to stop crying. 

“That doesn’t even make sense,” he cried. Bruce had _bought_ him. And spent so much money on him already. And Jason was a whore. This was his _job._

“Every person,” Bruce said, his voice gentle and warm as he spoke, somehow not betraying even the ounce of anger Jason _knew_ he had in him, “Every last one of them who has ever touched you like that has hurt you, and I won’t be like them.”

“It doesn’t always hurt,” Jason tried, but it didn’t stop him from devolving further into his tears as he buried his face into his arms. 

Bruce sighed, so Jason shifted enough that he could peek at him, but Bruce didn’t look particularly angry. 

Just. Like he always did. When he sighed. 

Tired, maybe.

“It kills me when you say stuff like that,” he said, when he caught Jason’s eyes, “It makes me want to track down every last person who has ever hurt you…” he took a deep breath and let it out through his nose, his jaw clenched tightly. 

He was actually _furious,_ wasn’t he?

And yet… somehow. It wasn’t a scary anger. 

“Or maybe,” Bruce finally continued, after he’d taken another deep breath, “Maybe just go break into Gotham General and beat Donny some more.” 

Jason choked on a laugh, as he sat up to clean his face off with the hem of his shirt. His crying had made his face all gross. “Donny never touched me,” he said, his voice still all watery. He hadn’t _totally_ stopped crying. 

“Really?” Bruce asked, doubtfully.

So Jason nodded, with a shrug, “He was into girls.” 

“That,” Bruce said, “uh. That’s not any better. But besides, he exploited you. He deserves all the beatings he gets.” After a pause, Bruce added with a little more conviction, “He _deserves_ to be dead.” 

“I still don’t understand,”Jason whined. He was _done_ crying.

He was. 

Totally. 

Bruce looked back at him, and asked gently, “What?” 

How… Why did Bruce need this spelled out for him??

“I look just like Dick,” he said. _Just_ like him. 

But Bruce furrowed his brow, and really looked at Jason. 

Like he hadn’t even _considered_ that.

“Huh,” he said, “Yeah, I can see that. Your face is a bit different, though. Your jaw is more defined. And your hair and eyes are different, too.” 

“You,” Jason started, but paused so he could sit up better, “You really didn’t notice?” 

“No,” Bruce said, smiling in an almost grimace, “Uh, sorry. I guess I don’t pay attention very well.” 

So… Jason _wasn’t_ his type?

Because if Bruce hadn’t even _noticed,_ it meant he didn’t _care._

And… and…

“But I thought,” Jason tried, but he couldn’t get anything else out, because he’d started crying again. 

This time, though. This time he felt so much fucking _relief._

Was Bruce really not making any moves because he _wasn’t going to?_

“Then,” Jason forced out, “Then why take _me?_ Why take _Dick?”_

If he really wasn’t into kids, and didn’t need one to get his fix, then why the fuck spend so much money on a couple? That weren’t even _his?_

“To protect you,” Bruce said simply. Like that was an actual thing people did for children that didn’t belong to them. “To protect both of you, from people like Donny Falcone. Or the Court of Owls. Or Tony Zucco.” 

Jason sniffled a couple times, and asked, “Who’s Tony Zucco?” 

“The man who killed Dick’s family.” 

“Oh.” Jason didn’t know Dick’s family had gotten murdered.

He… wasn’t sure how he thought Dick was with Wayne. Murdered family was a pretty sucky way to end up with him, though. 

But, if Bruce really didn’t touch him… maybe it was okay?

Was Jason honestly going to buy this, though? He couldn’t figure out what the game was, if Wayne was lying. 

What would be the _point?_ Wait for Jason to trust him, and then make his move?

That made no sense. Jason had literally just offered himself. 

“Jase,” Bruce said, leaning down on his arms a little so more of his weight was on the mattress. He was still sitting in the chair, though. And actually no where near Jason. Like, four feet away, because the bed was so big. 

“I _promise_ you can trust me.” 

“I—“ Jason started, but faltered. “I… _want_ to,” he finally admitted. 

But… he just. He didn’t understand. 

And.

And what if Wayne _was_ lying? And in a week he dragged Jason to his room and—

“That’s okay,” Bruce said quickly, just before Jason could start crying again, “That’s _good,_ even. I’ll take _want_ to, because I really do just want to keep you safe and protect you. That’s the only reason you are here, the only reason I threw money at Donny.” 

“But that makes no sense,” Jason whined, “ _You_ make no sense. Why would you just…” 

“Hey, that’s okay,” Bruce cut in again, when Jason failed to find the words he wanted. “It’s okay, I don’t expect you to trust me. I _want_ you to, but I don’t expect it and I understand that you don’t. I will still keep my word, no matter what. And one day I hope my actions help you come to trust me.”

Was _that_ the game? Just work to gain Jason’s trust?

But even _that_ made no sense! None! Because why would he work to earn trust, just to immediately destroy it? 

“Jase, kiddo,” Bruce said, very softly once Jason had started crying again, despite his best efforts. 

“Take your time, I’m not going to make you trust me. I will earn it, fair and square. If I ever _do_ earn it.” 

Jason scrubbed at his eyes again, and looked back at Bruce to see him staring at Jason with so much conviction and determination, he couldn’t help but listen. 

“And I completely understand if you are never able to trust me. So many other men in this city have made it hard for you to have trust in a man.”

“Yeah,” Jason cried, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes. He couldn’t trust clients. He could _never_ trust a client. And until ten minutes ago, Bruce _was_ a client. 

Or. 

Jason didn’t _know._

“And lad,” Bruce said, patting an outstretched hand at the mattress near Jason’s feet until Jason looked back up, “if you ever _do_ come to trust me. If you ever give me that gift, I _promise_ to treat it like the precious thing it is. I will cherish it and protect it by _never_ doing _anything_ to break it.” 

“I—“ he started, but had to stop when all he could do was cry. He buried his face back into his knees and covered his head with his arms. He couldn’t deal with this. It was way too fucking much. 

He wanted _nothing_ more than for Bruce to be telling him the truth. 

_Nothing._

But if he believed this shit, and then Bruce turned around and pulled some shit…

Jason wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get through that. 

There was only so many times he could pick himself back up and piece everything back together. 

“Take your time, Jason,” Bruce said again, “Take as long as you need.” 

By that, Bruce apparently also meant Jason could cry as long as he needed, because it took him a good five minutes to fully regain control of himself. And the entire fucking time, Bruce just sat there. Patiently. 

It was only when Jason finally scrubbed his face clean again with his shirt and tried to offer a smile, did Bruce ask, “Okay?” 

“Okay,” he said, with a nod. 

“All right, then. I’m glad we had this talk. If you still want to sleep in here, that’s fine. I’ll go sleep in a guest room, but my guess is you’ll be far more comfortable in your own room.” 

“Yeah,” Jason said, thickly, as he started to scoot to the foot of the bed, so he could hop off. 

He wouldn’t sleep a wink in Bruce’s room. At least in his room, he knew no one would come bother him. 

In Bruce’s room… 

Who knew. 

“Good night, kiddo,” Bruce said, when Jason’s feet hit the ground and he started toward the door, “I’ll see you at breakfast.” 

Jason turned around, when he reached the door and started to open it. After sniffling one last time, he nodded and said, “Yeah. Night, Bruce.” 

Bruce smiled brightly, and let Jason walk right on out of the room. And down the hall. 

Because, supposedly, he’d always let Jason just walk way. 

He really hoped Bruce was telling him the truth. Because he might actually be okay living there, if so. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made myself cry. 😅
> 
> Originally, I was going to have Dick show up a little sooner and have Jason meet Dick before this, but then I decided this scene made more sense beforehand, so here. Also I was going to have Jason tease Bruce more by calling him "Boss" all the time, but whatever. They really needed this scene to happen before progress could happen. Hopefully y'all like it as much as I did when it was still in my head. 😂


	16. Chapter 16

Sleep found Jason fairly easily, once he’d curled up on the couch in his room and stopped crying. But that was probably because he was _exhausted._

In the morning, when he woke just before ‘breakfast time,’ he debated going downstairs for several long moments, but decided he’d rather not.

Seeing Bruce that morning wasn’t something he was eager to do. Not after crying his eyes out in front of him. And though Bruce had been super fucking patient about it, Jason just couldn’t deal with whatever reaction Bruce would have, now. Even if that reaction was something disgustingly nice like asking ‘ _how are you feeling this morning?’_

So Jason took his sweet time getting up so he could take a shower and get ready for the day. By the time he was dressed and everything, it was an hour past breakfast. Which should have been plenty of time for Wayne to eat his breakfast and get on with whatever it was he did all day.

Hide in his study, or whatever. Or maybe he’d go to work. He did that sometimes, too. Jason liked it when he went to work, because it meant he wasn’t even home.

Although, if he were being real… Then maybe it wouldn’t matter if Bruce was home.

Downstairs, Jason found the kitchen blissfully empty. Not even Alfred was there, so Jason went about fixing himself a bowl of cereal.

Bruce _had said_ he could help himself to the pantry. And sure, the milk was in the fridge, but he highly doubted Bruce was gonna be all legalistic about it.

In the pantry he found three different options for cereal, and all of them sucked. But he picked the frosted shredded wheat, since at least it had the frosted part. The other two looked like plain cornflakes and some health food cereal with lots of nuts and shit in it. Jason couldn’t even identify what everything in it was. Hadn’t Alfred and Bruce ever heard of _Cheerios?_

But frosted shredded wheat wasn’t the worst cereal in the world, so Jason climbed up on one of the stools at the island and started eating.

“Good morning, dear boy,” Alfred said, when Jason was half way through his bowl.

He jumped, slightly, then turned so he could see Alfred and smiled. “Hi, Alfred.”

“I did not mean to startle,” Alfred said. He walked into the room and over to the fridge. “Did you want anything else with your cereal? Some fruit, perhaps? Or orange juice?”

Jason shrugged, as he took another bite. “I’m okay.”

Alfred smiled and pulled out a pitcher of tea, then went about pouring a glass of it. “Do you have any plans for the day?” he asked, once he put the tea back and sat down across from Jason.

With another shrug, Jason said, “I dunno. Read more, probably.” It wasn’t like he had anything _else_ going on, anyway. What kind of plans could he make?

“Well, I was going to make cookies today. Would you like to join me?”

“Like, help you?” Jason asked, trying not to perk up too obviously. He’d never cooked before. Not anything beyond ramen, that was. Making cookies would be _so cool._

“If you would like,” Alfred said, sipping at his tea, “I would quite enjoy the help.”

With a grin, Jason nodded and said, “Yeah. That’d be so cool.” So so _so_ cool.

He never got to do cool shit like that at Donny’s.

“When would you like to make them?” Alfred asked.

So Jason hurried down his last two bites of cereal and said, “I’m ready now.”

With a soft chuckle, Alfred nodded toward Jason’s bowl and said, “Put your dishes away, and we’ll get started.”

They decided to make chocolate chip cookies. Mostly because Jason couldn’t think of any other type of cookie when Alfred asked, but since chocolate chip were the superior cookies, it didn’t bother Jason one bit.

“Have you ever made cookies before?” Alfred asked, as he started collecting up a bunch of things from all over the place. Bottles and containers of powders and liquids. A jar of chocolate chips. A dish of butter.

“Nu uh,” Jason hummed, as he tried to guess what each ingredient was. There was obviously flour and sugar, but he couldn’t figure out what the brown powder was. Or the little jars of white powders.

“Well then, how about I teach you.”

First, Alfred had Jason measure out the butter and sugars. Apparently the brown powder was _brown sugar,_ and Jason had to use a spoon to smash it into the measuring cup while he was measuring it out.

He dumped each ingredient into a fancy electric mixer, and watched as Alfred turned it on and set it to beat the sugars together with the butter.

“We need to let that run for a few minutes. In the meantime, why don’t you crack the eggs we need into this bowl,” Alfred said, placing a little bowl down in front of Jason, and pulling the basket of eggs over so Jason could reach them.

Jason picked one of the eggs out of the basket, which were _blue._ Not all of them were, but there were quite a few _blue_ eggs. He didn’t know eggs could be anything but white.

After staring at it a moment, he looked back at Alfred and admitted, “I don’t know how to open an egg.”

He’d seen people do it on TV a bunch of times, but he’d never tried himself. And he was scared he’d smash it and make a gigantic mess, and waste the egg.

“Tap it against the edge of the bowl,” Alfred said, while he was digging through a cabinet for cookie sheets, “then pull it apart at the crack.”

Jason stared at the egg skeptically, then tapped it against the edge of the bowl.

And nothing happened.

“What?” he asked, looking back at Alfred for help.

Alfred smiled and set the cookie sheets he’d dug out up on the counter, and crossed the room to Jason. “Like this,” he said, taking an egg from the basket and cracking it open. He did exactly what Jason did, smacked its against the edge, then used his thumbs to pull it apart.

He made it look so _easy._ But then Jason tapped his egg against the bowl again, and nothing happened.

“Harder, lad, you _want_ to crack it.”

So Jason tried again, hitting it harder. But it still didn’t crack. “I don’t want to smash it,” he said, trying one more time.

Alfred stepped closer, and held a hand out, letting it hover over Jason’s. “May I?” he asked. When Jason nodded, he grasped Jason’s hand and showed him how to do it.

“We get these eggs from a local farmer,” Alfred explained, as he showed Jason just how much force was needed, “so they are much stronger than the store bought eggs. It will take a lot of force to ‘smash’ them.”

“So, now I just… open it?” Jason said, trying to look at where his thumbs were to try and pick it apart like Alfred had done. Or, pull it apart, all without getting little bits of the shell to break off and get into the egg. He was so focused on that, he wasn’t paying attention to where the egg would land...

Alfred said, “Over the bowl,” just as Jason managed to open the egg… and cause it to spill right onto the counter. A good three inches from the bowl he was _supposed_ to be putting the eggs in.

“Oops.”

“It’s quite all right, lad,” Alfred sighed, as he opened a drawer and pulled out what looked like a metal scraper, “This is why you work over a clean countertop.”

“So you can make a mess on it?”

“So you do not risk soiling the ingredients you do drop,” Alfred said gently, as he scraped up the egg and dropped it into the bowl with the other one, “Master Richard was quite adept at spilling ingredients every time he assisted, too.”

There would be a next time? Jason would be allowed to help more?

“Did he help cook much?” Jason asked, hoping the answer was _yes._ Because he kind of really wanted to learn how to cook.

“Not often,” Alfred said. He set the scraper down near Jason and went back to pulling out the cookie sheets, so Jason picked up another egg and went to crack it. “He much preferred to eat all the ingredients while he watched, instead.”

Well, that was still a cool option, too. Eating tons of chocolate chips and chatting with Alfred. And if Alfred kept being nice to him, he’d definitely be okay with hanging out with him like that.

“So Dick was like, a real kid here and stuff.” A real kid like Jason could potentially be. Maybe.

“Yes,” Alfred said, a touch amused, “he was a real child. I believe he is coming to visit sometime in the next few days, so you will get to meet him and confirm he is a real person.”

Jason rolled his eyes. He hadn’t thought Dick was _fake._ Why the fuck would Bruce make up a child and name him _Dick_ if he was just trying to convince Jason he _wasn’t_ a pedophile.

Dick’s name being _Dick_ was still points against him.

“I mean, like, Bruce legitimately just… took a kid home and let him grow up here.” And then he did normal things. Like cook.

That was how Jason learned how to make ramen, after all. His mom showed him. Ramen and sandwiches and beans and pasta were all things Jason could make because of his mom.

_And then Dick grew up and went to college._

There was nothing Jason wanted _more_ than to grow up and go to college.

“Yes, he did,” Alfred said.

“ _Why?”_ was one thing Jason still did not understand. If not for sex, why did he just… take little boys home?

Alfred stopped the mixer and pulled the beater out, then scraped down the sides with a spatula as he said, “He needed a home, and we had one to offer.”

“But people don’t just _do_ that,” Jason protested. If adults with homes to offer just… offered them to orphaned children, _there would be no orphaned children._

“Of course they do,” Alfred said, like Jason were saying nonsense, “Fostering and adoption are both doing exactly that.”

“Foster parents just do it for the money,” Jason grumbled. _His_ foster parents had been absolute shit. 100% absolute shit that kept track of how much he ate to make sure they were still making money off him, and always getting mad at him for no fucking reason. Bruce did the get mad thing, but at least he didn’t get mad with his fist yet.

“You telling me Bruce needed money?”

No way Bruce Wayne needed the money. And considering he’d told Jason to ‘help himself’ to food and had already spent a ton of money on him, with the clothes and such, he knew Bruce wasn’t paying a bit of attention to how much money he spent.

Cause Bruce was rich. And money didn’t matter to him.

Alfred confirmed his assumption when he said, “He received no money for Master Richard’s placement.”

“Then _why_ take him,” he asked.

Alfred put the beater back down into the bowl, and turned it back on. “Pour the eggs in one at a time,” he said, before answering, “I believe Bruce saw himself in young Richard that night they met.”

They met at _night?_ That wasn’t suspicious at all.

“How’d they meet?” Jason asked, anyway.

“Master Bruce did not tell you?”

“No?” Jason said, as he dumped the last egg in. Why would Bruce have told him that?

It wasn’t like they _talked._

Not much, at least.

But Alfred told him the story, and according to him, Bruce and Dick met in an actual _circus._ Because Dick was a trapeze artist, or whatever.

Like. An actual person from the circus.

And Dick’s whole family fell to their deaths because some assholes rigged their trapeze so it’d fall while they were all on it. Dick hadn’t jumped out and joined them yet, so he was the only one to survive. And Bruce watched the whole thing.

Which sounded pretty awful, actually. Jason had never witnessed a murder, thankfully. But he could imagine how scary it was. And considering Bruce had _also_ watched his parents get murdered, they did have stuff in common.

Jason wasn’t sure if he bought _that_ was enough to make Bruce want to raise Dick for ten years, but his existence made more sense, at least.

“Bruce saw the opportunity to help a child the way he needed help,” Alfred explained, “I do not believe he thought about it before he did it, and then once it was done, he committed.”

“Then why would he take me?” Jason asked. Yeah, Jason’s mom was dead, but she hadn’t been murdered. And Jason hadn’t witnessed her death, just found her afterward. And his dad was still alive, so he wasn’t technically an orphan.

Bruce and Jason had nothing in common. Absolutely nothing.

“With you,” Alfred said, “he felt he _had_ to help. I do not believe he could live with himself, had he not.”

Jason’s chest tightened, the more he thought about it. He wasn’t sure what to do with any of this information.

It sounded… it all sounded too good to be true. Between Bruce’s words the night before, and now Alfred saying all this…

Perhaps. Perhaps Jason’s initial read on Bruce had been _right._ He was just a fucking idealist, naive and stupid, doing shit that was going to get him killed one day.

Like stealing Jason away from the Falcones. Or Dick out from under _lots_ of people.

“He’s a real bleeding heart,” Jason mumbled. He supposed there could be worse things…

Like pedophile.

But it wasn’t necessarily a _good thing,_ either.

Alfred smiled _proudly,_ though, and said, “Yes, he is.” Alfred was fucking _proud_ Bruce was such an idiot.

“It’s gonna get him killed,” he grumbled. Being proud of stupidity was dumb. Sure, Alfred _could_ be happy Bruce wasn’t a mob leader, or whatever, but doing shit that threatened to get himself _killed_ seemed counterproductive. If Alfred raised Bruce, wouldn’t he _want_ him to stay alive?

“How do you figure?” Alfred asked, like it weren’t fucking obvious.

“He was lucky Batman got Donny and started fucking with the mob before they found out about him stealing me,” Jason said, scowling. He _still_ didn’t understand how Bruce had escaped that. Hadn’t Officer Asshole told on them?

Why _wouldn’t_ he have gone and told on them?

Then again, Office Asshole might not have been a member of the mob. Maybe he was just a client…

Jason didn’t honestly know.

The corner of Alfred’s lips twitched as he said, “I suppose he was.”

“He’s playing with fire, pulling that shit.” If Office Asshole hadn’t told on them, and _none_ of the cops that saw them were connected to the mob, and _none_ of the social workers Gordon talked to, Bruce was _really_ fucking lucky.

All the stars must have aligned for him to pull this stunt and have gotten away with it so well.

Sure, it’d been not even two weeks, but if the Falcones wanted Bruce Wayne dead, he’d be dead. He’d left the manor plenty of times already.

 _Every single night,_ in fact.

“Not to worry,” Alfred said, as he picked up the flour canister and placed it in front of Jason, “Master Bruce is quite skilled at playing with fire.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay.” Because _that_ made fucking sense.

“Measure out the rest of the dry ingredients,” Alfred instructed, pointing back down at the recipe in front of Jason, “and sift them together.”

After Alfred showed Jason what _sift them together_ meant, Jason measured out a ton of flour, then a little bit of baking soda, baking powder, and salt for the cookies.

As he was _sifting,_ Alfred stood next to him and watched his work, then said, “But lad, I am glad you have realized we mean you no harm.”

All Jason could do was shrug. He really hoped he could trust Bruce’s words, at least.

There was nothing he could do, if he were lying, though. So he might as well move on like he _wasn’t,_ and just hope for the best.

Right?

That sounded like the best path for his fucking sanity, at least.

“I still think Bruce is an idiot,” Jason finally said, once he was completely done preparing the flour mixture. All he had left to do was mix it into the dough and add the chocolate chips, if he’d read the recipe right.

Alfred tsked, then said, “Bruce is a very intelligent man, but I would agree with you.”

Jason only grinned.

If he knew _anything_ for certain, it was that Alfred was pretty awesome. He really hoped Alfred let him cook with him more often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did i write 500 words about Jason learning how to crack an egg? Uhhhhhhhhh. Maybe. 😅 But Alfred & jason bonding is 🥺 so yeah. I stand by it. lol (forgive me, it's somehow 2:25am and I am Tired, therefore make 0 sense. I also did not proof this, so just ignore the errors I'll fix them tomorrow when my brain is working again.) 
> 
> Anywayyyyy, thanks for reading yall. <3


	17. Chapter 17

The final thing Jason had to do was add the flour to the cookie dough. 

“Pour it in a little at a time,” Alfred said, when Jason picked up the bowl of flour to dump into the running mixer, “and let it incorporate.” 

Jason probably should have listened to him better. 

Because when he dumped the flour in, half the bowl at once, the mixer was super mean and kicked the flour back up out of the bowl… and all over the counter and Jason.

“That is why you go slow, lad,” Alfred sighed, as he walked over and shut the mixer off. 

“Sorry,” Jason said, setting the bowl down so Alfred could scoop up what spilled out and place it back in the bowl. He looked down at himself and saw his dark blue shirt was sprayed with white. Brushing it off did nothing but spread the flour around, so Jason sighed. 

At least it wasn’t one of Donny’s shirt. So far Wayne hadn’t done anything when Jason spilled things on his clothes, and Jason was kind of thankful for that. 

He was a bit messy, after all. 

Alfred smiled at him, as he reached across the counter in front of Jason, to brush all the flour toward him with his hand. “It’s quite all right, lad,” he said.

“I can still keep helping, right?” Just because he ruined his clothes a lot and no one cared didn’t mean Alfred would want him to keep making messes in the kitchen. 

Even _if_ Dick used to do the same thing. 

Dick was Bruce’s son. Jason was not.

“Of course,” Alfred said, as if he hadn’t even _considered_ kicking Jason out of the kitchen. Which was great. 

More proof Alfred was awesome. 

“Now,” he said, handing Jason the bowl of flour back, “go slow this time.” He handed Jason one of the scoops he’d used to measure out the flour, and turned the mixer back on. “Just put the flour in one scoop at a time, that should give it enough time to incorporate without spilling out.” 

Jason nodded, and started scooping the flour in, as instructed. And sure enough, he was able to finish without making another horrible mess.

Once all the flour was in, Alfred turned the mixer off and pulled the bowl out and handed it to Jason. 

_Then_ he had Jason mix the chocolate chips in _with his hands._

It was so cool, actually. Reminded him of playing with play dough, as a child. 

The final step was to roll the cookie dough into balls, and place them out on the cookie sheets Alfred had prepared, all lined with some sort of rubbery liner. Which _still_ reminded him of the play dough. 

Honestly Jason had no idea cooking could be so much fun. 

Alfred did not let Jason put the cookies in the oven. He cited the fact that the oven was hot, and even though Jason _told_ him he was almost thirteen, it didn’t dissuade him. 

So Jason let Alfred put the cookies in, and he set the timer for eight minutes. 

“How do we clean up,” Jason asked, turning back to the huge mess he’d made on the counter, with all the bowls and stray flour and stuff still all over the place. He knew Alfred used a dishwasher, but he didn’t know how to use it. So he wasn’t sure what he needed to do. Just putting the bowls in the sink felt rude, even though that’s what Alfred had him do with his plates and stuff. 

“Why don’t you leave that to me,” Alfred said. Before Jason could protest, he pointed down at Jason’s shirt and said, “Why don’t _you_ go get cleaned up, lad. You ought to change that shirt, and wash the flour off your face.” 

“There’s flour on my face?” Jason asked, trying to scrub his face clean with his hand, but all that did was spread the cookie dough grease on his hands to his face…

Alfred merely smiled. 

“Oh, while you’re up there,” Alfred said, just as Jason turned to go wash up, “Could you do me a favor?” 

“Yeah,” Jason said slowly. What _kind_ of favor, though? 

“Do you mind putting your dirty laundry down the laundry chute?”

Oh. Yeah, Jason could _definitely_ do something like that. 

Well, he could do _anything_ asked of him, but this was something that wouldn’t suck to do, at least. 

There was just one small problem. “What’s a laundry chute?” he asked. He could infer, just from the word _chute,_ but he wasn’t sure where it was… or what it looked like. 

Alfred smiled as he started stacking up the bowls Jason had used. “It is the wooden door next to Master Dick’s bedroom door,” he said, “if you open it, it reveals a chute that will drop your clothes into a basket in the laundry room, so I can wash them.” 

“Oh. Sure.” Sounded easy enough.

“Thank you, lad. Ordinarily I would retrieve the hamper myself, however I do not wish to intrude on your space.” 

And Jason was thankful for that. And also mad at himself for being thankful Alfred never went into his room. 

“That’s okay,” he said, “I can do it.”

It wasn’t like it _mattered._ How was his room any more safe than any other room in the house? It wasn’t. So it was stupid he _felt_ safer in there. Or, at least a little more relaxed and private. 

If Wayne wanted to get him, he could do that anywhere. But he hadn’t even wanted him when Jason offered himself… 

“Don’t forget to include the shirt you are wearing.”

“Okay,” Jason agreed, as he left the kitchen. 

Up in his room, Jason made sure to scrub his hands and face clean of all the cookie evidence. Alfred had been exaggerating when he said Jason had flour on his face. There was, like, one tiny little smear. Jason had made it way worse with his cookie grease hands. 

But with his face and hands clean, he quickly switched his shirt out for a new one, and found himself kinda glad Alfred was gonna wash his clothes. Because he was running out of shirts he liked. All that was left in the drawer, now, was one single shirt. Sure, he had that whole drawer full of more shits, but they were all crappy polos. Or on the tighter side. 

And, yeah, he could wear any of them just fine, he just _preferred_ not to wear them. Tight shirts always made him feel like he was suffocating. At Donny’s, he didn’t make a stink out of them, because at least they were better than tight tanks. Or no shirt. But since _Bruce_ kept being adamant that he wanted Jason to wear what _Jason_ wanted to wear, well. Jason was going to take advantage of it. For as long as Wayne allowed. 

Although if Bruce _really_ wasn’t interested in kids, then maybe he _actually_ didn’t care how Jason dressed. And wasn’t looking at his body, anyway. 

Jason could handle lustful eyes and stares. He could handle _anything._ But the thought he wouldn’t _have_ to handle it…

With a shake of his head, Jason tried to refocus on his task. There was no reason to dwell on what the fuck Bruce meant by everything he said. Jason would find out, eventually. Either Bruce would keep not touching him or looking at him, or he wouldn’t. And _thinking_ wasn’t going to change that.

He dragged his full hamper out into the hall, and down it to where he was pretty sure was Dick’s room. If he remembered right, Dick’s room was the one across from Bruce’s. And sure enough, not far from the door was a small square wooden door in the middle of the wall. 

When Jason opened it, he found an opening about a foot deep, that led straight down into a lit room below, where there was, indeed, an empty basket sitting. 

“That’s pretty cool,” Jason murmured, as he started shoving his clothes into the chute, handful by handful. 

What did the chute look like on the other side? It had to be a pretty weird wall, to have a random spot stick out six inches or so beyond the rest of the walls. Unless the wall was just a foot thick, for some reason. 

Curiously, Jason pushed the door to Dick’s room open, just so he could peek at the wall and see. He wasn’t gonna snoop or anything. 

Too much. 

When he turned on the light, he saw that Dick’s room wasn’t deep enough for the chute to share a wall with it, after all. But there was what looked like a closet door, so maybe the closet shared a wall with it. 

But Dick’s room itself looked… nothing like what Jason was expecting.

It was decorated. Like, a lot. There were posters on the walls, and _things_ everywhere. Books and _toys_ and, and… knick knacks. 

Dick must have been a huge superhero fan, too, because there were a ton of little superhero figures all over the place. 

He wasn’t snooping, though. No. He was looking for the laundry chute. So Jason went and opened the closet door, then flipped on the light because Dick’s closet was a huge walk in. 

Well, not huge, huge, but it was bigger than Jason’s. And had way more than enough room for clothes. 

Who even _had_ so much clothing they had to fill up a big closet all for _themselves?_

Not Dick, apparently. Or, maybe, he just hadn’t left most his clothes behind. 

Jason found the laundry chute’s wall, just where he thought it’d be. It did, indeed, jut out further than the rest of the wall, but it was easy to miss, since there was a rack of clothes covering it up pretty well.

Most of the clothes Jason could see were, like suits and stuff, though. He _was_ a little curious to see if Dick had any of the more… showing off type clothes he’d expect of a _plaything._

But no. 

It really was just a bunch of suits. Like, tuxedos and slacks and collard shirts and ties and shit. And a huge long row of school uniforms, too. For _Gotham Academy._

Apparently Dick went to _Gotham Academy._

That was exactly what Jason expected from Bruce Wayne’s _kid._

 _Not_ Bruce Wayne’s _whore._

Which… was a little relieving. 

Jason wandered over to the uniforms, and pulled at the sleeve of one of the coats. He rubbed the fabric between his fingers. It was a little stiff, but not so much that it’d suck wearing it.

He wondered if Bruce would send _him_ to Gotham Academy. He _had_ mentioned something about school…

But Jason had just expected, like, the local public school. Somewhere free. Why would he waste money on the education of a prostitute?

No one ever expected prostitutes to do anything with themselves, anyway. It tended to be one of those careers that, once you’re in it, you’re in it forever. 

That was why Jason had planned on _leaving_ Gotham. And getting far away, to somewhere no one knew him. Just so he could start over and pretend he’d never worked this stupid job in his life. 

_Gotham Academy,_ though. And Bruce said Dick was majoring in _business._

Was he going to follow Bruce in his footsteps? And run a company?

Or was it all for show? Jason supposed it _could_ all be for show, that was definitely still a possibility. Bruce only sent Dick to school, and then college, all to convince everyone _else_ he wasn’t fucking Dick. 

Jason looked around at the clothes again, and was at least happy to see nothing too tight or revealing looking. None of the _costumes_ and shit he was used to. 

Nothing looked particularly comfortable in Dick’s closet, though. It was all fancy shit, but that could be because Dick took all the comfortable stuff with him. Jason sincerely hoped that was the case, and he wasn’t forced to wear fancy shit all the time.

He was just about to cut out the light and leave, when a black _something_ in the back of the closet caught his eye. It was shoved back behind all the tuxedos, and it looked nothing like the rest of everything, even though it was the same color. It looked super soft, not stiff and starched. 

In fact, it wasn’t stiff at all. When Jason walked over and felt the sleeve, he felt that it was actually thick knit cotton fabric. And when he pulled at it, to see more of it, he couldn’t help but grin.

It was a _hoody._

Dick had a _hoody._

Or… he _had_ one. 

Because clearly he’d taken all his actual clothes with him, and left this one behind. And _that_ meant he didn’t want it. 

Bruce had said Jason could take things from other rooms… 

Jason pulled it off the hanger, and turned it around so he could see the front. While the majority of the hoody was black, the front had a huge splash of yellow on it, and Jason rolled his eyes.

Of _course_ it’d be a fucking Batman hoody. What was with Dick and his superhero shit? Alfred had purchased _Jason_ a couple superhero shirts, but not many. And none of them were Batman.

Which was fine, because Jason didn’t really like Batman. 

Except… Batman _was_ kind of the reason the mob wasn’t going after him anymore. And he’d gone and rescued all the other boys, like little Nick. Which wasn’t a bad thing, probably. Jason _should_ probably be thankful and shit to him, even if he’d waited too fucking long and hadn’t been there to get Jason out, first. So, he should at least not _hate_ Batman. 

Besides, the Batman hoody was the only one in the whole closet, and beggars can’t be choosers and all that, so Jason pulled the hoody over his head and had to cover up his mouth, so he wouldn’t start laughing with his delight.

Because the hoody absolutely _dwarfed_ him. 

It was a men’s small, he’d seen on the tag, but Jason was _very very_ small, so it went half way down his thighs, and the sleeves a good several inches past his finger tips. 

And it was the exact _opposite_ of tight. He could breath in it _so easy._

Jason never wanted to take it off. 

Donny would _never_ allow Jason to wear something like it. 

But would Wayne…? _Nothing_ of Jason could be seen it in. Nothing but his face and the lower part of his legs. Clients like to see… him. More of him. 

If Bruce was telling the truth, and he honestly did not care and was not interested, then he _should_ let Jason wear it. 

And if he told Jason to take it off… well, then he’d know.

Right?

Right. 

Probably. 

Jason shook his hands, so that the sleeves would fall down further. Once his hand was visible, he pushed the sleeves up, and grinned when they were too large to really stay put easily. The hoody was _perfect._ It reminded him of the one he had when he was little. Several sizes too large so he could grow into it. Big and warm and cozy and _perfect._

There was no way Jason was putting it back. Wearing it sounded like a way better plan than doing _nothing,_ because it would make the game end sooner. If there _was_ a game. Bruce wouldn’t be able to explain away a reason for wanting to see Jason’s body, after all. 

Satisfied, Jason cut the closet light out and made his way out of Dick’s room, before he could snoop around some more. Dick probably wouldn’t notice a single hoody missing he hadn’t cared about enough to take with him in the first place. But if Jason went stealing other shit from his room, he’d probably definitely notice. 

That was rule number one of stealing. Take little things here or there. Things that wouldn’t be missed. Dick would notice his decorations and stuff missing, most likely. 

Since the cookies were probably done, Jason dragged his hamper back to his room, then bounced downstairs, hoping Alfred hadn’t hid them all away, or whatever. 

When he reached the kitchen, he found Alfred pulling another batch out, and setting the cookie sheets up on the oven before he loaded in two more sheets full of cookies. 

The batch they’d made was making a _ton._

Alfred looked up, then cocked his head at Jason for a second. “Are you cold?” he finally asked. 

Jason refused to look down at the hoody, or even acknowledge that he was wearing it. 

He hadn’t even considered _Alfred_ would tell him to take it off…

“No,” he said, “I’m okay.” Which was absolutely true. He wasn’t hot, either, despite the thickness of the hoody. 

With a slight smile, Alfred said, “As long as you’re comfortable, sir.” 

Jason made a face, at the whole _sir_ thing, but didn’t comment further on it, and simply said, “I am.” 

He was _more_ than comfortable. More comfortable than he’d been in years. 

“I’m glad,” Alfred said warmly, “Would you like a cookie? They are still warm.” 

“Yes, please,” Jason said, grinning wide. That was exactly what he wanted. 

And as Jason ate far too many cookies than was probably healthy, he could feel his shoulders relax further. Alfred wasn’t making him take the hoody off, or even commenting on it further, and he was being nothing but kind and friendly. 

Hopefully Bruce would be the same way. Or, at least, just let him keep the hoody. He didn’t care if Bruce was friendly. 

He just wanted to keep the hoody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been looking forward to this scene since the start. 🥰
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	18. Chapter 18

After his morning with Alfred, Jason found his way to one of the little dens to watch TV. He was actually feeling a little sick, due to eating _way_ too many cookies.

Way too many. Like. A dozen. At least.

He wasn’t sure why Alfred let him do it. 

But they were so good, and Jason didn’t regret it. He just didn’t like that his stomach was feeling all queasy. 

An afternoon on the couch, watching mindless TV would fix it, though, he was sure. So he curled up on the couch and found a random channel to watch. 

He ended up watching a house hunter show, where the couples were moving to random ass countries for sketchy sounding reasons and buying giant as fuck houses and stuff. While squabbling over things like _ocean view._

It was weird, and Jason didn’t understand it. But he was too lazy to uncurl and get the remote again. He was curled up, his legs pulled up into his hoody while he hugged his knees close, his head resting on the arm of the couch. Really, he was like a little ball, and so _so_ cozy. 

So that was how he stayed, for a good two hours, watching stupid shows on HGTV. Right up until he heard Bruce’s footsteps come down the hall and stop at the doorway, behind the couch. 

Jason curled up a little tighter. Peaceful day over, he supposed.

“Hey, Jason,” Bruce said, still somewhere behind Jason, “Alfred said you had a stomach ache.” 

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. Because he was. His stomach hardly hurt anymore, anyway. 

Bruce hummed, and walked further into the room as he said, “Too many cookies, huh?” 

Jason should _not_ be freaking out as much as he was. His heart rate had picked up, and he was doing everything he could to stay calm and still. Bruce _said_ he didn’t want anything the night before, so he shouldn’t be worrying he wanted something _now._

Why would he change his mind?

Then again… why wouldn’t he?

He kind of wished he hadn’t been wearing the hoody, just so he didn’t have to find out if Wayne was going to take it away. 

“Yeah,” he forced out, putting a faint smile on in hopes Wayne didn’t catch on, “It was worth it, though.” 

With a chuckle, Bruce finally stepped into the room, and right up behind the couch. Albeit, the opposite end of the couch from where Jason was lying. 

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but paused and really looked at Jason. And just… stared. For a minute. His face completely unreadable.

Jason resisted the _strong_ urge to shrink down into the hoody, so he couldn’t see out of it at all. He _knew_ he shouldn’t have worn it. 

Was it better to live in a delusion that Wayne _wasn’t_ interested and _didn’t_ care, or to see reality for what it was?

“Uh,” Bruce finally stammered, as he shook his head, as if clearing away his thoughts, “If you’re cold, we have blankets. Hang on.” 

Bruce walked around the couch, and to the end table between a couple armchairs, that were angled perpendicular to the couch. He pulled a blanket out from a basket under the table, then brought it over to Jason.

Jason sat up and pushed an arm back out of his sleeve so he could take the blanket as offered, a little dazed. “I’m not cold,” he said, staring down at the grey woven blanket in his hands. 

It was actually a very heavy, comfortable feeling blanket. He might just curl up in it, anyway. Even if he _wasn’t_ cold. Because he wasn’t. At all.

“Oh,” Bruce said, “Well, you can use it if you do get cold. We have blankets all over the place, feel free to use any of them.” 

“Okay,” Jason said, slowly. 

Wasn’t Bruce gonna tell him to take the hoody off? 

Or… comment on it at all?

Bruce shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then asked, “What are you watching?” 

What was even _happening?_

“Um,” Jason stammered, “House Hunters, I think.” 

“That show can be amusing,” Bruce hummed, “May I join you?” 

“Sure,” Jason said, nodding a little absently. What the _fuck_ was happening? 

Or… or. Maybe this was just Bruce and his desire to ‘bond’ with him, or whatever. Spend time with him like he were his actual kid. 

That was fine. That was totally fine. Jason could handle _that._

He totally could.

“You can say no,” Bruce said, still standing behind the couch, several feet away from Jason. 

Why did Bruce always say _that?_

Saying ‘no’ was, honestly, a terrible idea. He _knew_ he could tell Bruce to ‘fuck off.’ Obviously he had the freedom and ability to do that. 

But _freedom_ to say something didn’t mean he was _free from consequences._ And so far nothing bad had happened in Wayne’s house. So he wasn’t about to ruin it over telling Bruce to fuck off when all he wanted to do was watch TV with him. 

“It’s fine,” he mumbled, turning his attention back to the TV. He was tempted to curl up in the blanket, even though he wasn’t cold at all. 

With a nod, Bruce crossed the room to the farthest away armchair, then sat back and started watching the show. 

“These folks always have such strange priorities,” Bruce observed, about ten minutes into the next episode. 

Jason nodded, so Bruce continued, “They never pay close attention to the rooms they’ll use daily, and instead focus on the patio, or how easy it’ll be to throw a dinner party.”

“Yeah,” Jason agreed, “I’m pretty sure they just pick actors and make them act stupid.” 

Bruce huffed a silent little laugh, and said, “That would not surprise me. There’s a couple of those house flipper shows where I’m fairly certain they manufacture the drama, but who knows.” 

With a shrug, Jason did finally unfold the blanket and stretch out under it. If Bruce wasn’t gonna say nothing about the hoody, then it probably didn’t matter. 

Which was… a relief. Kind of. 

Unless Bruce was just waiting until Jason relaxed more to make him take it off. Ease Jason into the house… 

Nope. Jason wasn’t thinking about any of it. _At the moment_ Bruce wasn’t doing shit, so he wasn’t going to worry about shit happening later. 

Probably.

If he could convince his brain to focus on the TV. 

Jason pulled the blanket up to his chin and managed to pay attention for the rest of the episode. After a few minutes, Bruce had pulled his phone out and was paying more attention to it than the show _or_ Jason, so it wasn’t even difficult to ignore him. 

But after they’d sat there for a good half hour, kind of ignoring each other, Bruce cleared his throat and said, “Dick is coming to visit.” 

“So you keep saying.” How many times had they told him that? Like fifty-three. And yet, still no Dick. Even though it’d been a week and a half. Jason didn’t blame him for not being eager to come back home. 

Which was just more points against Bruce, actually. 

Bruce nodded and said, “He isn’t sure if he’ll be free tomorrow or the day after, but he’ll come down and visit as soon as he is.” 

“Get free from what?” Jason asked. He was still snuggled up under the blanket, but he’d at least turned his face so he was kind of looking at Bruce while he talked. 

“He likes to keep busy,” Bruce explained, “volunteers way too much, makes plans with friends, all sorts of things.”

“Like you with your _dates?”_ Jason asked. It was kind of funny, if Dick _did_ take after Bruce in that. Bruce somehow kept busy, and Jason didn’t even understand it. All his busy happened at night, though, since he was usually around the house during the day. Either working in his study or on the phone or something. 

So, well, that probably counted as ‘busy’ too. 

Jason didn’t mind him being busy. It kept him from using Jason as a time killer. 

Bruce smiled, a little fondly, as he said, “Yeah. Like me and my ‘dates.’ But much better.” 

“Okay,” Jason said, a little dismissively. He wasn’t even sure what that was supposed to _mean._

“Dick is looking forward to meeting you, though,” Bruce said, holding his phone up so Jason could see the texting screen, as if to say ‘see he said it right here.’ Even though Jason couldn’t read it from where he was lying. 

“That’s cool,” he said, turning his attention back to the TV. 

He wasn’t quite sure if he was looking forward to meeting Dick. 

\- - - 

Bruce watched TV with Jason for another hour, until he excused himself to ‘get some work done.’ He made comments here or there about the shows they watched, but he didn’t try to make Jason talk much. Or really do anything. 

Which was nice. 

Jason wasn’t sure how long it was going to last, but he could enjoy it while he could. Bruce being nice and keeping his distance and _not_ wanting shit from Jason. 

If there was anything he looked forward to in meeting Dick, it was maybe asking _him_ if Bruce could be trusted. Whether _Dick_ could be trusted wasn’t something Jason had determined yet, but he was hoping the answer to that would be ‘yes.’ Since Dick _had_ been a kid in Bruce’s house, and all that. 

_But he’s an adult now,_ his brain helpfully reminded him. If eighteen could count as ‘adult.’ 

Bruce skipped out on dinner that night, telling Jason to ‘have a good night, kiddo. I’ll see you tomorrow,’ before he left. Off to who knew where. 

He couldn’t quite find it in himself to care. A quiet evening without Bruce sounded nice. 

And it _was._ Alfred ate dinner with him, and then played chess with him after, so Jason _did_ have a good night. 

Sleep that night found him quickly. He did take the hoody off, just because he knew he’d get too hot wearing it while asleep, but he shoved it in his now empty backpack and hid it in the closet, so hopefully it wouldn’t vanish on him over night.

Not that he expected anyone to enter his room without him noticing. He was simply being cautious. 

But of course, in the morning, he woke up completely undisturbed. 

He hadn’t even woken when Bruce got home, which was weird. He _always_ woke up when Bruce walked down the hall, even though he never went past his room and towards Jason. His stupid brain just panicked every time and woke him up, just to listen to Bruce go into his room as always. 

That night, however, either Bruce _hadn’t_ gone to his room, or his brain had decided there was no reason to raise the red alert. 

Jason wasn’t sure which he hoped it was. 

Nothing had happened, though, so he tried not to worry about it too deeply as he took his morning shower and changed into some of the clean clothed Alfred had washed the night before. Happily, he put the hoody on last, and made his way down to the kitchen, ready to eat some breakfast. 

“Perfect timing,” Alfred said, as Jason entered the kitchen, “I have just finished breakfast and was about to serve it. Master Bruce is in the dining room already.” 

“Okay,” Jason agreed, giving Alfred a smile before he headed toward the dining room. 

So Bruce was home. That was fine. 

Nothing was gonna happen with Alfred right there, anyway. 

And he hadn’t said anything about the hoody the day before, so hopefully….

With a breath, Jason pushed the swinging door open and crossed over into the dining room, but then froze there. Staring at Bruce.

At… super beat up Bruce.

He looked… so bad. He had a huge bruise on the side of his face, right under his ear and blossoming across his jaw. Then his left arm was wrapped up, like he’d fucking sprained it, or something. Jason couldn’t see if he was all stabbed up, just because he had long sleeves and pants on, but his right leg was elevated, sitting on top of a pillow on an empty chair. 

_Who the fuck beat up Bruce Wayne?_

Had he got jumped by the mob???? Jason would not be surprised by that. 

But why wasn’t he _dead_ if that were the case?

“Morning, Jay,” Bruce said, as he took a sip of his coffee, then turned his attention back to the tablet he had balanced on his wrapped forearm. 

Like… like he didn’t look like death warmed over. _Like it was a normal fucking Saturday._

“Uh, hi,” Jason stammered. He took a few more steps into the room and asked, “Bad date?” 

Bruce grinned, just for a split second, before the smile melted away again, back into his normal smiles are illegal look. “You could say that.”

“Must have been one big guy,” Jason said, still refusing to get any closer and sit down. Although his caution might have been unwarranted, since Bruce seemed pretty upbeat. Despite clearly having the shit beat out of him not long ago. 

_No fucking wonder he didn’t go upstairs._ With his leg hurt, climbing stairs was probably a bitch. 

“I crashed my motorcycle, actually,” Bruce said, with another sip of his drink. 

That… 

Jason didn’t believe that for a second.

The bruise on his face was _clearly_ a fist print. _Clearly._

He’d _seen_ people beat up before. He knew what it looked like. And _Bruce_ was what it looked like.

“Why are you lying,” Jason asked, scowling a little. Bruce _said_ he wanted to earn Jason’s trust. How the fuck did he think he was gonna earn his trust lying to his fucking face? 

If the mob beat him up, didn’t Jason deserve to know about it??

“What makes you think I’m lying,” Bruce said, calmly. 

It just made Jason scowl harder. He wasn’t fucking _stupid._

“Do you owe someone money? Did they beat you up” he asked, unable to keep the touch of scorn from his tone. Although, why the fuck would a kazillionaire like Bruce borrow money in the first place. “Or, did the Falcones find out it was _you_ that busted them _?”_ Officer Asshole could have easily gone and told on him. 

_Easily._

“Have you ever seen him drive a motorcycle?” Someone asked, from the doorway behind Jason.

“Fuck,” Jason swore, as he jumped _hard._ He spun around to see… Dick. 

He was 89% certain it was Dick. He looked just like all the pictures all over the place, just… older. Longer hair. 

Jason turned his scowl on the intruder and said, “It’s rude to sneak up on people.” 

Dick rubbed the back of his neck and offered Jason a smile. “Sorry,” he said, “But, seriously, Bruce can’t ride a motorcycle. He can barely ride a _bike,_ so yeah.”

“Then why do you _own_ a motorcycle,” Jason said, turning back to Bruce. He still didn’t buyit, though. _Fist print._

“I don’t anymore,” Bruce said with a shrug, “that thing is totaled now.”

“Anyway,” Dick said, _clearly_ trying to change the fucking subject, “Hi, Jason. I’m Dick.” 

Jason rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I figured.” 

“Okay,” Dick said, with a frown. Then he looked down at Jason’s hoody and furrowed his brow. “Uh, is that my hoody?”

“No,” Jason said, shoving his hands into the pocket. It was _not_ Dick’s hoody. 

Anymore.

“Dick,” Wayne said, low and a little warningly. Jason hadn’t heard him use that tone, yet, and it kind of made his spine stiffen a little. 

But Dick wasn’t even fazed, because he completely ignored it and said, “I’m pretty sure that’s my hoody.” 

“Well, it’s not,” Jason said, taking a few steps backward, toward the door to the kitchen. Alfred wouldn’t let Dick jump him, he was sure. 

Although, Bruce didn’t seem eager to let Dick jump him, either. So maybe it was fine. 

Dick raised an eyebrow, and asked far more clam than Jason expected, “So if I go look in my closet, my hoody will still be in there?”

Jason shrugged. “How should I know?” Maybe Dick had another hoody in there. He didn’t know. 

“Dick,” Bruce said again, this time a little harsher.

It just made Dick scowl as he parroted back, “Bruce,” in the same exact tone. 

Apparently Dick wasn’t afraid of Bruce. At all. 

That was… an interesting development. 

Bruce motioned with a finger for Dick to come to him, so Dick rolled his eyes and did just that. He leaned down close when he got near, and Bruce started talking to him quietly.

But not quietly enough, because Jason could _fucking hear them._

Seriously, what was with Bruce talking about Jason _right in front of him?_

“Let him have it,” Bruce said, in such a tone that Jason would have interpreted as ‘this is an order, do not back talk me.’ 

Evidently, Dick didn’t interpret it that way, because he whispered back, “But Bruce, that’s _my_ hoody.” 

“I know, but you left it here,” Bruce responded. 

_Exactly._ Dick left it behind. Finders keepers. It was Jason’s now. 

No way in hell was Jason giving it back.

Dick wasn’t the boss of him, Bruce was. And if Bruce said he could keep it, well then he was fucking keeping it. 

“So?” Dick argued, his voice still very quiet. But, again. _They were in the same fucking room._ “I left all sorts of stuff in my room. That doesn’t mean you can just _give it away._ It’s _my room.”_

“I didn’t—“ Bruce started, but Dick cut him back off.

“Can’t you get him his own? Mine doesn’t even fit him.” 

“It doesn’t fit you, either,” Bruce pointed out, and Jason actually hadn’t noticed that. But, yeah. Dick did look bigger than a men’s small. 

“I can buy you a new one if it’s that big a deal,” Bruce added. 

“Bruce,” Dick whined, “That’s the first Batman thing we found, remember? I left it here for safe keeping.” 

“I know, but—“ 

“You can’t just _buy a new one.”_

 _“Dick,”_ Bruce snapped, quietly, “It makes him feel safe. Please let him have that. The clothes the Falcones made him wear were horrendous, things like what male strippers wear. If he feels—” 

“I can fucking _hear you,”_ Jason said, crossing his arms and scowling at the both of them. Fuck _them,_ it didn’t make him feel ‘safe.’

Like. 

Okay not entirely. 

_Fuck him_ for even knowing that. Jason did not appreciate being psychoanalyzed. 

And how the hell did Wayne even know what Donny made him wear? It wasn’t like Donny had him dress in any of the costumes for him. 

“Sorry,” Dick said with a sigh, and he at least looked a _little_ sorry, “but you can’t just steal my stuff.”

“Finders keepers,” Jason shot back, “Besides, Alfred said I could go into any room not locked, and Bruce said I could keep anything I find. And I found this, so I didn’t do anything wrong.” 

Dick clenched his teeth at that, but Bruce shot him a warning look and said, back in his low warning voice, “ _Dick_.” 

“I know,” Dick seethed, through his teeth, “Fine. You can keep it. But it counts as your birthday present from me.” 

Jason nodded, and had to work to suppress the smile his lips were begging to show, at that. He hadn’t honestly expected to be allowed to _keep_ it. 

And if Bruce fought Dick on Jason’s behalf…. Well he probably wasn’t gonna take it away himself, anytime soon. 

Right?

“But Jay,” Bruce said, “From now on, please don’t enter Dick’s room without his permission, okay? Just like he is not allowed in _your_ room without _your_ permission.” 

“Sure,” Jason agreed. He didn’t want any of Dick’s shit, anyway. Who wanted a bunch of superhero figures? Like, whatever. Jason had the only thing worthwhile in Dick’s room, already. 

The swinging door to the kitchen opened, and Alfred walked through, pulling a cart filled with all the breakfast stuff he’d prepared.

“Well then,” he said, as he stopped at the table and started placing things in their appropriate places, “Why don’t you lads take a seat before this food gets cold.” 

“Thanks, Alfred,” Dick said, absolutely beaming at Alfred. Apparently completely over his pissy mood. He took a seat next to Bruce, then looked at Jason and asked, “Have you had Alfred’s pancakes yet?” 

“No,” Jason admitted. Mostly because he skipped breakfast half the time, anyway, and just ate cereal later. 

“Then you are in for a treat,” he said, motioning with a hand for Jason to sit across from him, “come on.” 

Jason finally let himself smile as he went to take his seat. 

He really wasn’t sure what the fuck to think of Dick. One second he was all mad and pissy, but then the next he was smiling and being friendly. 

Kind of like how Bruce could teeter between emotions like a fucking seesaw. 

But Bruce had yet to do anything to Jason, when mad, so maybe Dick took after Bruce in that way, too. 

Maybe. 

He’d have to wait and find out, he supposed.

At least the hoody was officially his. He could be happy for a _long time_ knowing that the hoody was his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote Dick and Jason meeting like three times. But this is obviously the version I went with. I LOVED reading everyone's theories about why Dick left the hoody, and how this would all go. Haha It was fun, especially since no one guessed the real reason. :D (Also, I went with the ORIGINAL way Dick left home. He just.... went to college. Like 18 year olds do. :) Isn't it lovely?) 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	19. Chapter 19

Breakfast was weird.

Dick kept chattering at Jason the whole time. _The whole time._

Maybe Dick _wasn’t_ like Bruce… Jason was used to eating in peace, with just Bruce there. 

But with Dick it was absolute endless chatter. And Jason felt obligated to try and keep up. 

“School doesn’t start until September,” Dick had explained, when Jason asked what college was like, “I moved up early because my friends and I wanted to get settled and do some traveling.” 

Jason didn’t think that made much sense, but what did he know? Dick was rich. Maybe that’s what rich kids did. They could afford to travel and shit. Kids from crime alley couldn’t afford to eat, of _course_ they didn’t do shit like travel. 

On their summers off. Before college. 

It was almost like he was in a foreign country, already. 

He looked down at his half eaten pancakes, and pushed the pieces around in the maple syrup. Alfred had made him roll his sleeves up, so they wouldn’t get all syrupy. He’d threatened to take it away to wash it, if he did that, so Jason was quick to roll the sleeves up as neatly as he could. 

“What do-“ Dick said, but the rest of the sentence was all garbled, and Jason didn’t catch it. When he looked up, he saw Dick with his mouth full of pancake. 

Bruce shot him a _look_ over that, so Dick swallowed and smiled sheepishly. 

“Sorry,” he said, then repeated, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” 

Oh. 

Jason… Jason didn’t know. 

Something.

_Alive._

Capable of paying his own bills. 

_Not a prostitute._

That was about as far as he’d gotten. He’d always thought he could figure that out as he got older, and figured out what the options were. 

With a shrug, Jason poked a piece of pancake with his fork, and slowly ate it. 

“That’s cool, I didn’t know what I wanted to do at twelve, either.” 

“Do you know, now?” Bruce asked, which just made Dick grin wider. 

“Nope.” 

That was what rich kids could do, he supposed. 

“I’m studying business, though,” Dick said, “I figure it could be useful for lots of things, no matter what I decide to do.” 

“Wayne Enterprises is always there,” Bruce said, but the way Dick rolled his eyes, Jason got the feeling that was a _thing_ between them. Like, an argument or discussion they’d had a zillion times. 

Dick seemed… at ease around Bruce, though. 

At ease and not scared at all. 

Jason wasn’t sure if it made everyone more trustworthy or not. If Dick _was_ just Wayne’s kid, then it probably was better news for him. 

Throughout the rest of breakfast, Dick kept asking him inane questions, one right after the other. Jason didn’t always answer them. 

Some were easier, like ‘what are you reading right now,’ but others were more like ‘what’s your favorite color’ or ‘favorite subject in school?’ or ‘favorite flavor of jolly rancher?’ 

He didn’t get where the fuck Dick was even coming _up_ with the questions. Or why he even wanted to fucking know. 

Why did he care what his favorite _anything_ was? Jason didn’t even know what his favorite of lots of the things were. 

But every time he shrugged in respond, Dick would just smile and move to another question. 

It was crazy. And Jason _definitely_ missed quiet meals with just Bruce. 

Or, better yet, _none_ of them. Just him and his bowl of cereal. 

The very second Jason finished off his last bite of pancakes, Dick asked, “Have you explored the gardens yet?” and Jason had to resist the urge to sigh. 

_Loudly._

Dick was gonna make him hang out with him all day, wasn’t he? 

Bruce smiled, a little, into his coffee cup as he kept reading away on his tablet. Sort of ignoring them, but obviously not entirely. Not if he was getting amused by Jason’s annoyance. 

Well fuck him. 

“No,” he said, instead of sighing and telling Dick to ‘fuck off,’ like he wanted. Because he had to remind himself, he _wanted_ to talk to Dick. To figure him out and see if he could possibly believe a single word Bruce ever told him. 

And he doubted Dick was gonna stick around long. 

Jason sure as fuck wouldn’t. If he were Dick. 

“Would you like to?” Dick asked, a little eagerly, “We’ve got some cool stuff out there.” 

“Like what?” he asked. He’d looked out at the gardens, from his room, which did face toward the back of the house, rather than the front. But he hadn’t seen anything ‘cool,’ other than maybe the various benches and stuff scattered about the flowers and bushes. 

It was neat they had basically a little park right in the back yard, but he wouldn’t go so far as to get _excited_ about it. 

But maybe that was the city kid in him talking, the one who’d never been around greenery much. Or outside in general. Not in the last three years, at least. 

Outside in Gotham sucked anyway. Smoggy and gross and smelly. Maybe he _should_ go outside more, now that he was well outside the city limits and had access to what real nature was like. 

Or… real nature carefully cultivated to look pretty. To Alfred. 

“There’s a tire swing,” Dick said, “And a trampoline. And a whole shed full of toys.” 

What was with them and _toys?_

But he’d still go outside, if only to see what outside was like. “I don’t care,” he mumbled. 

“Come on,” Dick said eagerly, “Put on some shoes and I’ll show you.” 

Jason sighed, but went up to his room and picked out a pair of sneakers Alfred had bought him. Alfred had actually got him, like, seven pairs of shoes. Why did he need so many shoes? He hadn’t even worn _any_ of the new shoes the one time he needed them, to go to the doctor. He’d just worn the shoes Donny had given him. 

Bruce didn’t let him out of the house. Which was understandable.

But going outside to ‘play’ sounded like something he’d wear his new sneakers for, so he put them on and grumbled, all the way back downstairs. 

What the fuck was with the Waynes wanting Jason to act like a little kid? Bruce wanted him to _play with_ _toys,_ and now Dick wanted him to _play outside._

It was ridiculous. 

But at least it wasn’t bad, he supposed… 

Dick smiled brightly when Jason trudged back to the patio door, and opened the door for them to just… go outside.

Because no one cared. 

They wandered around for a few minutes, while Dick led them past the gardens and over a little hill. 

He showed Jason the tire swing, but Jason didn’t feel much like _swinging_ on it, so he just shook his head when Dick offered to push him on it. He also didn’t want to jump on the trampoline, when prompted. Or play with any of the toys. 

Really, running around and doing anything like that just sounded absolutely _exhausting._ And Jason wasn’t up for any of it. 

“That’s fine,” Dick said, when Jason refused the fifth proposed activity, “come on, I know a cool spot to sit and chat where we can just enjoy the sun.” 

By _cool spot,_ Dick literally meant the grass. 

Granted, the grass was soft and cool to the touch, but it was still just grass. Jason sat down on it, regardless, criss cross so he could pick at the blades. And poke at the lady bug he found crawling around on one. 

“I feel like I’ve asked you a zillion questions,” Dick said, as he sat down on the grass, then stretched out so he was lying on his back, his head resting on his hands, “Do you have any questions for me?” 

Jason cut his eyes up briefly, from the lady bug, but looked back down at her just as fast, and started picking blades of grass out one at a time, tearing them up with his fingers before dropping them back all around the ladybug.

Sure, he had questions. But _should_ he ask them? Or even what?

It’d be easy to ask if Bruce was a gigantic liar. But would Dick even tell him the truth? _Could he trust Dick was telling him the truth?_

Just because Dick was a kid when Bruce took him didn’t mean shit. He’d been with Bruce for _ten years._ That was plenty of time to get brainwashed. Or at least get accustomed to the lifestyle Bruce could provide, and just… deal with anything that came with it. Jason knew he could figure out how to deal with everything, if it meant he got his college paid for. He wouldn’t be happy. Especially not without any place to _hide_ from it all, like he could do in Donny’s house, in the dormitory, but he could deal. And just hang in there until he turned eighteen and booked it off to college.

In California. As far away from Wayne as he could get.

And if Dick _did_ have to deal with things, and had just pushed along for all the money and comfort, he was probably happy Wayne picked up a new kid. So he didn’t have to do shit anymore. 

The little lady bug flew off, so Jason gripped a whole fistful of grass right where she’d been and yanked it up. Some dirt came up with it. Dirt and roots and all, and he felt mildly bad for messing up the pretty yard. When he was pulling individual blades, it wasn’t noticeable. But now there was a hole in the yard. 

So he tried to place it back down and pack it in, but it didn’t look right. 

“Seriously, Jason,” Dick said, when Jason kept messing with the grass, trying to make it go back into place. 

Jason wracked his brain for things to ask, and finally came up with, “How long are you visiting for?” That was something Dick hadn’t shared about himself, already. 

He knew the guy’s favorite flavor of ice cream, already, for crying out loud. He’d kind of exhausted the obvious questions. 

_Although none of the ‘obvious’ questions were quite what he_ wanted _to ask._

Dick frowned, like that wasn’t what he wanted Jason to ask, but recovered quickly and said, “A few days.” 

“That’s cool,” Jason said, with a nod. He wasn’t sure what Dick _wanted_ him to ask.

Unless he _wanted_ to talk about whether Bruce was a pedophile… 

“But I’ll make sure to come back as often as I can, okay?” Dick added, offering Jason one of his bright smiles. 

Jason couldn’t help it. He asked, rather rudely _“Why?”_

Dick only shrugged, and said, “You’ll be living with Bruce for at least a couple years. I’d like to get to know you.” 

_‘But why?’_ Jason thought. Why on earth would Dick _want_ to know the new whore Bruce had taken in. Even _if_ Dick was just Bruce’s previous toy and he was happy Bruce got a new one, it didn’t mean he owed Jason shit. 

“You don’t have to,” Jason mumbled, looking back down at the grass he’d semi-succeeded at patting back down into place. 

“Yeah,” Dick said, like it was no big deal, “but I want to. You seem like a cool kid.”

Jason offered a tiny half smile, while his stomach did some weird twisty thing. But, not in a bad way. In a… warm way. He pulled his knees up and wrapped an arm around them, not sure how to properly respond to _that._

No one had ever just… wanted to get to know _him._ Only because he was a ‘cool kid.’ 

Maybe a ‘pretty’ boy. Or… or. stuff. But never just because… he was a kid. Whose time wasn’t currently being bought. 

Except by maybe Bruce. Sort of. Although his paid week had already passed. 

And nothing ever happened…

“Did,” Jason started, before he’d given his mouth permission to speak. He faltered, and tried to backtrack. 

He didn’t want to ask.

But Dick prompted, “Did what?” very gently, so Jason hugged his knees tighter and blurted it out. 

“Did Bruce ever fuck you?” 

Dick had asked. He had literally asked. But Jason couldn’t watch his reaction, so he shut his eyes and—

“No,” Dick said, quickly but firmly. 

Jason didn’t dare open his eyes and look over. He didn’t want to see if Dick was lying. He didn’t want to… he just wanted… he wanted it to be true. He wanted to _believe_ it, so, so bad. 

But…but he _couldn’t._

“Really, Jason,” Dick said, back in his gentle voice that was so fucking soothing it made Jason actually open his eyes. He looked and saw Dick sitting up now, looking dead serious as he added, “He never touched me.” 

His stomach was doing a funny thing again. It felt like the grass had gotten inside him, and was now sprouting around in his stomach, making everything thick and cold. 

He swallowed, then said, “You said that awfully fast.” 

“Yeah,” Dick conceded, with a shrug, “but honestly? I knew you were going to ask me.” 

Jason’s shoulders dropped and his stomach bottomed out. “So Bruce told you.” 

Bruce had told him and warned him and could he even be trusted?

“He did, yeah.” 

For all Jason knew, Bruce was making Dick reassure Jason. 

_But that didn’t make fucking sense, either._ If Bruce _wanted_ Jason, he would have _taken him,_ when Jason offered. He wrapped his other arm around his knees and squeezed tightly. Why couldn’t everything make _fucking sense?_

“He just wanted to make sure I didn’t make you uncomfortable by, like, trying to hug you or whatever.” 

Jason had to furrow his brow, a little, at that. Why would hugging him make him uncomfortable? There was half a dozen things Dick could ask Jason to do that would make him _uncomfortable,_ long before Jason thought of _hugging._

Then again, Bruce seemed to avoid even brushing up against Jason, even accidentally. Like he thought Jason didn’t want to be touched _at all._

Which… was… was… 

Weird. 

Everything about Bruce was weird. 

“But you know none of that means my answer is a lie. Bruce never once touched me, just as he will never touch you. He actually _hates_ pedophiles.” 

“So he said,” Jason grumbled, resting his head down on his knees, “But everyone thinks he is one.” _And that had to mean something._

Rumors didn’t come from _no where._

“Only because of the bias against single men taking in children,” Dick said dismissively. Like the rumors didn’t even _bother_ him. 

Jason huffed, “Well there’s bias for a reason.” 

“Perhaps,” Dick said, “Perhaps not. It’s easy to be more pessimistic about it when all you’ve known are the creeps of Gotham.” 

That…. 

Okay fine, that was a point, he had to admit. Jason _had_ only known the worst men of Gotham most his life. His dad was okay, but his dad was his _dad._

“Alfred never touched Bruce,” Dick pointed out, “and he raised Bruce. Then neither Alfred nor Bruce ever touched me, and they raised me.” 

“Why should I believe you?” Jason shot back, “You could just be trying to make me comfortable enough for Bruce to make his move.” 

_Although that didn’t explain why Bruce turned him away…_

Dick gave him a flat look and said, rather dully, “Jason. Do you really think I’d come back here if Bruce abused me?”

 _“I_ wouldn’t,” he said. But that didn’t mean Dick wouldn’t. Not if he liked the money Bruce threw at him.

_Spending the summer traveling._

He’d become accustomed to the lavish lifestyle, and wanted to keep it. 

Jason _knew_ the second he left and never came back, he’d be cut off. That was how those sort of relationships worked. Stop offering yourself as repayment, and the money stops coming.

“Exactly,” Dick said, “I’m eighteen now. If I wanted, I could just leave and never come back. I have friends who would take me in, I don’t need him to survive. But I have no reason to do that, Jason. He and I have our differences, and we fight sometimes, but family does that.” 

Jason repositioned his chin on his knees. He definitely knew a lot about families fighting. 

He hoped Dick and Bruce didn’t fight like his dad fought his mom. Or with him… 

“He’s like… an older brother, almost, to me,” Dick continued, “He’d never hurt me. And he’ll never hurt you.” 

At that, Jason looked back up at Dick, and saw him just sitting there. Casually leaned back on his hands as he stared off into the distance. 

“I thought he was your dad,” Jason said, slowly. Dick looked over and raised an eyebrow at him, so he added, “He calls you his kid.” 

“Yeah,” Dick said, a smile tugging on his lips, “Kind of older brother, kind of dad? Like, an older brother that raised his younger brother.” 

How did that make any fucking sense? Didn’t Bruce adopt Dick? He was fairly certain you couldn’t adopt a person to make them your younger brother. For _that,_ Bruce’s dad would have to adopt Dick. 

… Alfred? Would have to adopt Dick? Was that how that worked?

The confusion must have shown on his face, because Dick said, “You know we’re only fourteen years apart, right?” 

“Oh.” No, he hadn’t known that. But he probably should have figured it out, because he knew Bruce wasn’t like, _super_ old or anything. 

Which meant… Bruce was actually really young when he took Dick in. And from Jason’s experience, pedophiles tended to be… older. A lot older than the kids they liked. 

Did that mean Bruce really didn’t…?

Dick shrugged. “I don’t know. Whatever he is, I love him. And I know he loves me. _Like family does._ He would never hurt me, he just doesn’t have it in him.” 

Jason took a shuddery breath in.

“He doesn’t have it in him to harm any child, _especially_ sexually,” Dick said, apparently unaware that Jason’s mind was reeling, “I think he’d rather kill himself than do that.” 

_Kill himself?_ Jason hugged his knees even tighter, to the point of pain, just trying to hold himself together and not start crying. He couldn’t handle this. 

He really really _really_ wanted Dick to be telling him the truth. Because either Dick and Alfred and Bruce were all on a team, trying to make Jason relax so Bruce could jump him when he least expected it, or… or they were telling him the truth. 

And he couldn’t figure out _why_ Bruce would want to lure him into a false sense of security. That made no sense. He was _already_ willing. It was literally his _job._

Maybe with a kid like Dick, who _hadn’t_ been a whore before Bruce met him would have to be lured in, but not Jason. 

But Dick wasn’t even _acting_ like Bruce’s personal toy. Jason had _seen_ how those kinds of kids acted. It was aloof and distant, just like Jason always acted when he was doing shit for people. Dick was not aloof and distant. 

“Really, Jason,” Dick said, gently, “if Bruce had any less of a moral compass, I think he’d go on a rampage and kill every pedophile he could find. _Not_ be a pedophile himself.” 

“You’re sure?” Jason asked, and he hated himself for how his voice broke. He didn’t want to start crying. 

He _couldn’t_ start crying. 

He’d cried way too fucking much in the past week and a half. 

“Yeah,” Dick said softly, “And if he _were_ a pedophile, I promise I’d get you out of here. I would not let you stay with him.” 

Jason huffed and pressed the palms of his hands into the corner of his eyes, trying to ground himself. “Yeah _right,_ no way the security system lets you do that.” 

Bruce had been _clear._ Jason would not be allowed off the property unless he allowed it. Like when he brought Jason to the doctor. 

Which just counteracted _everything_ Dick just said to him. Why would Bruce keep him prisoner if he _wasn’t_ a prisoner? No matter how well treated that was?

Dick looked at him like he’d said a dumb thing, and said, “Sure it would, I don’t know why it wouldn’t.

“Bruce _told_ me how it works,” Jason said, a little defensively. He was not _dumb._ “It prevents people it doesn't want to cross the property line from crossing. It won’t let me leave if Bruce wanted to keep me here.”

Dick rolled his eyes, in an exasperated manner. Somehow, Jason knew it wasn’t directed at him. “I promise you he did not set it to keep you from leaving the grounds.” 

“How do you know?”

“How about I show you?” Dick responded, grinning a little. When all Jason did was roll his eyes, he added, “No, really, want to get some ice cream? I think we should get ice cream.” 

“Is…” _it okay with Bruce,_ Jason almost asked, but caught himself. Because asking Bruce permission wouldn’t actually answer the question. Cause then _obviously_ he just turn it off so Jason could pass through. 

Or come up with some asinine reason Jason shouldn’t leave the estate. 

“Come on,” Dick said, hopping to his feet. He offered Jason a hand, but Jason shook his head and got to his feet himself. He wasn’t a _baby._

Dick bounced on ahead, toward the side of the manor and said, “Maybe we can go to the mall and get you your own hoody.”

“I like this one,” he grumbled, clutching at the front of his hoody, as if Dick could just steal it from by him thinking about it. 

“Yeah, I know. I said you could have it. We can get you another, though, so you can wash that one sometimes.” 

“Oh.” They went the short way around the house, because apparently they weren’t even going inside to get, like, anything. 

“I think a Superman one would be funny,” Dick said, just as they were passing by the house to the front of it, where Jason could see the garages. 

“Why funny?” 

Dick led him right passed the garages, though, and still further around the house to where the front driveway was. “Bruce _hates_ Superman merch.”

“Wouldn’t that make him mad, then,” Jason said slowly. He didn’t want to make Bruce mad on purpose. 

That made Dick laugh, though, as he said, “You’ll quickly learn that Bruce’s anger is meaningless. He’ll grumble, but do nothing about it.”

“I don’t want to make Bruce mad…” And make him take Jason’s hoody privileges away. He’d still be able to wear the shirts he liked and stuff, probably, but he _really_ didn’t want to lose the hoody. He’d do anything asked if it just meant he could keep it when not performing. 

Dick smiled and shook his head with a quiet laugh. “Thats fine. I’ll get you a Green Lantern hoody when you’re ready to press Bruce’s buttons.” 

_Did Bruce hate his Flash pajamas?_ Jason had worn those several times, already. Since he’d only slept in them and so they weren’t super dirty. So far Bruce hadn’t said a word about them, other to comment on how cozy they looked. 

Why would Alfred get him clothes Bruce hated, though?

They finally reached Dick’s car, which was just parked outside the front of the house. Dick unlocked it with the key from his pocket and hopped in, but Jason had to pause and admire it a second, before he followed suit and got in the passenger’s seat.

Because Dick drove a _Porsche._ Bruce had, apparently, bought Dick a _Porsche._

And it was so beautiful. 

The beauty of the car did not distract him long, though, because as soon as Jason fastened his seatbelt, Dick took off. Right toward the manor’s gate. 

When Dick stopped to enter the code to open the gate, Jason asked, “What’ll happen if the security system _does_ block me out?”

“It’s not going to, I promise.” 

“But what if it _does?”_ he pressed, _“_ Am I gonna get squished, cause the car will be let through but I won’t? Will your car crash?” 

Jason didn’t want to _die_ just because Dick was stubborn and wanted to prove a point. He knew how physics worked. And physics did not let a body slide _through_ metal. 

Dick looked over, once he’d finished opening the gate, and said, “Jason, no. Look. It’s not set up to keep things _in,_ okay? Only out. And it absolutely will not _squish_ anyone, even _if_ it was set to keep someone out. Bruce would never set something up that’s going to _kill_ people, okay?”

Jason huffed, but before he could even protest that more, Dick stepped on the gas and went right through the gate. _Fast._

He didn’t even have time to shout ‘ _stop’_ before they were out on the main road, speeding off toward town and away from the manor.

Because the security system had done nothing. Not even the gate had shut, until after they’d passed through it fully.

“See?” Dick said, grinning, “Told you. Bruce’s not gonna touch you and he’s not gonna kill you. You’re really just his foster kid he’s taking care of and protecting until it's safe for you to be adopted out, or something.”

And as they spend off toward wherever the mall was, Jason couldn’t think up a way to dispute that. He wasn’t sure he _believed it_ yet, but he had to admit, the security system had simply let him pass. 

Why would Bruce just let him _leave_ if he really had been bought? He didn’t know. It made no sense. 

None of the pieces were fitting together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was a long chapter. The new chapter of The Best things is similarly long.... I'm just putting it through the beta process before I post it, which is why it's late. It'll come out in the next couple days, though, don't worry. :) 
> 
> Thanks for reading. <3


	20. Chapter 20

“What’s your favorite kind of ice cream?” Dick asked, about two minutes into the drive to _wherever_ they were going. 

Jason sank down in the seat, wishing he could turn into a puddle Dick couldn’t talk to. He kind of regretted agreeing to go, if it meant another hour of a _what’s your favorite_ interrogation. 

But Dick waited patiently for his answer, as he continued focusing on the road and driving, so finally Jason grumbled, “I don’t know.” 

Why would he even _have_ a favorite ice cream flavor? Ice cream was ice cream. He’d never had a flavor he didn’t like. It was all good. 

Dick frowned as he looked over at Jason, then frowned a little harder. “Sit up,” he said, pointing at Jason’s neck, “if we get in an accident the seatbelt will break your neck.” 

Jason rolled his eyes dramatically. Maybe he _wanted_ the seatbelt to break his neck. 

Except… he didn’t, because that sounded painful, and the very last thing he wanted was to be bedridden. Or stuck in any sort of cast. Or dead… So he sat up, grumbling the whole time. 

“Really, no favorite flavor?” Dick asked, back to smiling, “Mine’s mint chocolate chip.” 

Yep. Jason regretted going. A scowl settled on his face as he crossed his arms and just glared out the windshield. How did he ask to just go back to Wayne Manor? Dick wanted to prove he could take Jason off the estate without trouble, and that point had been proven. Now Jason wanted to go to his room and read a book alone for a while. 

“That’s okay,” Dick said, after a moment, “We can discover your favorite together, how’s that sound?” 

“Today?” Jason asked, a touch incredulously. He didn’t want to get sick from ice cream. He hadn’t _had_ ice cream in a long time. He couldn’t remember eating it since Donny got him, at least. So it’d probably been _years,_ and if all the cookies the day before had made him sick, there was a very high chance a bunch of ice cream would be _way worse._

“No, not today,” Dick said, laughing a little, “Over a bunch of ice cream outings. I’m not _that_ far away from here that I can’t come see you once a month or so.” 

“Oh.” Maybe that wouldn’t be bad. If Dick stopped interrogating him all the time. 

It’d give him a break from Wayne, too. 

Not that… he’d need a break. If everyone was telling him the truth. 

Why would Dick agree to come back once a month, _only_ to get ice cream with Jason, if he were lying about how Bruce treated him…? 

Because… right? 

The car slowed down, as Dick turned left into what looked like a drive in restaurant. Jason wasn’t sure if he liked they weren’t actually getting out of the car and going somewhere in Gotham. 

On the one hand, walking around Gotham was just _asking_ to get picked up by the mob, and Jason didn’t _want_ that. They’d either kill him, sell him, or put him to work again, and none of those options sounded good. 

_Bruce_ wasn’t making him work, so Jason would much rather stay with Bruce. Even _if_ he was lying and was into kids. Because at least it wasn’t a handful of clients a night, every night forever. 

And, if the mob did get Jason, they’d probably just kill Dick. And Jason didn’t want Dick to get killed. 

But on the other hand… Jason didn’t really feel _out_ and free from Wayne Manor, sitting in Dick’s car. 

“Okay,” Dick said, after he’d parked the car in one of the ordering spots. He pointed to the board next to his window and added, “All the ice cream flavors are listed right there. I really like their lemon custard flavor, but they make a mean peanut butter, too.” 

Peanut butter ice cream? Jason gave Dick a skeptical look, then leaned on the center console so he could read everything on the board. There were like two dozen flavors listed, a couple crossed out with permanent marker, and two more added in, handwritten under the printed list. 

Jason hadn’t heard of almost _any_ of the flavors. His mom bought them rocky road once, so he knew what that was. But usually she got butter pecan, the rare times she could afford to splurge on something like a pint of ice cream. Then at school, they usually had vanilla or chocolate, the rare times they had ice cream parties. 

Dick offered him a smile, from where he’d sat back in his seat so Jason could see around him, and said, “There’s no wrong answer, pick whatever you want.” 

Yeah, but how could he order something without even knowing what the fuck it meant? Like what did _moose tracks_ mean? Surely there wasn’t _moose_ in the ice cream. Or what was _monster cookie,_ or _raspberry blast?_ What made it _blast?_

The longer Jason scrutinized the menu, the more he felt Dick getting impatient. Even if Dick wasn’t _looking_ at him impatiently, or anything. Just… sitting there. Doing nothing. 

So Jason said, “Butter pecan,” finally, just to get it over with. He did always like it when his mom bought it. 

“Perfect,” Dick said, grinning again as he rolled down the window and pressed the order button. After a second, someone started talking to him over the little intercom thing, and Dick ordered them two cups of ice cream, one butter pecan and one death by chocolate. 

“What’s death by chocolate?” Jason asked, once Dick finished ordering.

“It’s chocolate ice cream with lots of chocolate stuff in it, like chocolate chips, fudge chunks, chocolate covered almonds. Uh, I think there’s little candies in it, too?” 

“Oh,” Jason said, nodding, “yeah that’s a lot of chocolate.” 

When Dick pulled out his wallet and turned his attention to finding money, Jason unbuckled his seatbelt and sank down into the seat again. Dick couldn’t tell him he’d die if he did anymore. 

“Want your window rolled down?” Dick asked, after he flicked a $10 bill into the cupholder between them and put his wallet away. 

Jason didn’t care, so he just shrugged and adjusted his hoody so the neck was sitting a bit more comfortably. Dick took it as a _yes,_ and rolled his window down. More likely, Dick just wanted the breeze to go through the car, like it started to do once his window was down. 

It actually felt way better with the breeze. It was pretty warm outside… 

“So,” Dick said, a couple minutes later, “What grade you are in?” 

“I don’t know,” Jason mumbled, pulling his hood up as he sank into the hoody more. He could probably do the math and figure it out, but it probably didn’t matter. It wasn’t like a school would let him just skip right head to whatever it was, anyway. 7th or 8th grade. 

All Dick did was frown at him, so Jason scowled and said, “I dropped out in 3rd grade, okay?” 

“Oh,” Dick said, almost _sad._

Fuck _him._ What did he think, Donny sent them to school during the day? What kind idiot would he be if he _did?_

Prostitutes did not go to school. They slept during the day and worked at night and that was _it._

Jason’s random homeschool books probably didn’t keep him all caught up, especially since Donny just brought him what he found at thrift stores and stuff. So Jason had done random ass subjects, jumping all over the grades. 

“So is Bruce sending you to Gotham Academy, then? Or homeschooling you to catch up?” Dick asked, “I remember doing a lot of tutoring before I started at GA, when I first moved here. It’s a big change, homeschooling, or, I guess, no schooling to Gotham Academy.” 

“I don’t know,” Jason grumbled. 

“He hasn’t talked about it yet?” 

“No,” he grumbled. But Bruce hadn’t talked about _much._ Not much other than to keep telling Jason over and over again he wouldn’t have to sleep with him, or whatever. 

“That’s—“ Dick started, but paused when a girl on _roller skates_ came over to the Porsche, with their cups of ice cream in her hands. 

Dick handed her the $10 and told her to keep the change, and then took their ice cream and a couple spoons and napkins from her. 

He handed Jason his scoop of ice cream, which was actually like half a pint of ice cream, there was so freaking much. There was absolutely no way Jason would be able to finish it without getting sick, he just knew it. 

“There’s still a few months until school starts,” Dick said, after he’d taken a bite of his chocolate monstrosity, “so there’s plenty of time to figure out where you’re going and stuff.” 

With a shrug, Jason took a bite of his own ice cream. It was a pretty caramel color, and had a _ton_ of pecans mixed in. And, it tasted even better than he remembered. No wonder his mom always picked it out, it was _fantastic._

“Do you want to go to Gotham Academy?” 

Jason looked up, a slight smile still on his face from trying the ice cream, and said, “I don’t know.” Because he really didn’t. 

Would he even get in at Gotham Academy? If _he_ were the bosses at Gotham Academy, he wouldn’t let some uneducated prostitute kid in. Didn’t fancy schools like that care about, like, test scores and shit? There was no way Jason could do good on a test. 

“It’s a really good school,” Dick said, around bites of ice cream, “The kids are kind of… awful, though.” 

Well _duh,_ they’re rich kids,Jason thought with a huff, as he turned back to his own ice cream. He’d had a few bites, and he knew for a _fact_ he wouldn’t be able to finish. 

Rich kids were honestly the worst. Well, Jason didn’t know that for sure. He’d never met rich kids. But rich _adults_ were the worst, so it followed that they’d be awful as kids, too. 

Dick chuckled, a little, and explained, “They do this thing where they say something like a compliment, but really it’s an insult. It’s kind of infuriating.” 

“Like what?” Jason asked. Would he be able to tell he was being insulted? 

“I’m impressed, Richard,” Dick said, in a high pitched voice, “For someone homeschooled, you are quite friendly.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jason asked, scowling. That didn’t even make sense. 

“ _Exactly.”_

Jason frowned down at his ice cream, and sank down a little more. Had it got out yet that Bruce had bought a child prostitute? Gordon had said the news would catch wind of it eventually, and Jason hadn’t seen a newspaper in a while. Had they been hiding it from him? He hadn’t even tried to check himself, since if the paper wasn’t on the table, he didn’t think to read it. And the paper had been on the table in a week… 

Was everyone gonna _know?_ Did they already? If he didn’t dress like a whore or wear the makeup or whatever, no one could tell. Because he just looked like a normal kid.

But if everyone _knew_ Bruce’s new ‘foster kid’ was really a whore… it didn’t really matter. 

“Bruce doesn’t get it,” Dick grumbled, “He grew up in it, you know? It’s like, his world. He thinks that’s just how socialization is.” 

Nodding, Jason took another bite of his ice cream. He wasn’t quite sure what to say. Did _Bruce_ participate in the assholery? He kind of doubted it. 

“But hey,” Dick said, “If you ever need to vent about it, or whatever, you can call me.” 

Jason looked over and him and raised an eyebrow. _Call_ him? Why on earth would he do that? Or how?

“Yeah, or if you need a break from Bruce or something, just let me know.” 

Ha. Right. He rolled his eyes, because Bruce would just be there, listening to him on the landline telling Dick how awful he was and begging for rescue. 

Sure. 

“No, really,” Dick said, defensively, “you can call me whenever. Even if it’s just to ask me another question like earlier.”

“With what _phone,_ Dick,” Jason asked, rolling his eyes again as he looked back at his ice cream. He hadn’t even eaten half of it, and it was starting to melt. 

Dick furrowed his brow and asked, “You don’t have a phone?” As if he hadn’t even _considered_ not every person on the planet was born with a cell phone in their hand. 

Not even Jason’s _parents_ had had cell phones. They cost way too much. So why the _fuck_ would he, a twelve-year-old have one? Donny sure as fuck wouldn’t have even trusted any of them with phones. 

“Oh, we have to fix that.” 

_Why?_

“I don’t need a phone,” Jason grumbled. He didn’t want to be in debt even more than he already was, just with all the crap Bruce had bought him already. Bruce and Alfred. 

And sure, so far they hadn’t made him work it off like Donny or some of his clients did, but it wasn’t a guarantee that that was how it would always be. 

Jason _hated_ being in debt. 

“Of _course_ you need a phone,” Dick said, like there was absolutely no questioning it, “You should _definitely_ have a phone, holy crap. I can think of a billion reasons you need a phone.” 

“Like _what?”_ So whoever paid for it could demand blow jobs? No way. 

“Well, for one, you could text me.” 

_That wasn’t worth it!_ Jason thought. Not worth it _at all._

Although, Bruce _did_ say he wouldn’t have to do any of that shit… 

“Two,” Dick said, “it means everyone can keep in touch with you, especially while you’re at school or something. Or, you know, you could call the police if Bruce ever did anything.” 

Jason looked up, maybe a little too sharply.

Dick threw and hand up and said quickly, “He’s _not_ going to, but I mean, it can be there as an option. To make you feel more safe and secure.” 

“Right,” Jason said, rolling his eyes, “Cause the police are gonna arrest _Bruce Wayne._ The dude that owns half the city.” The half that the _mob_ didn’t own, that was.

“Commissioner Gordon would arrest Bruce himself if he thought he was abusing children.” 

“Whatever,” Jason grumbled. Dick was kind of naive, too, if he seriously believed in the police force like that. 

The ability to discretely contact the police didn’t do shit for making Jason feel _safe._

He tried to eat a few more bites of his ice cream, although with each bite he was feeling more and more sick. It was good. So, so good, but it was so much sugar. 

Dick didn’t say anything else, until a minute later when he suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “Speak of the devil,” he said, as he slid his thumb across the screen and held it up to his ear, “Hey Bruce.” 

Jason cut his eyes over, and tried not to stare, but if Bruce had found out they escaped, there was no telling how mad he was. Dick obviously noticed, because he leaned up against the center console, so his ear and phone were much closer to Jason, and clicked the volume control on the side of the phone, so Jason could catch the tail end of whatever Bruce had said. 

_"—You,”_ he said, in a questioning tone, although far less angry that Jason had been anticipating. More curious, than angry. 

Which was unexpected. But maybe that was just how Bruce did it. Didn’t act like he was angry until he was ready to punish, or something. 

Did… did Bruce punish? No one had talked much about that. He’d said a bunch he wouldn’t hurt Jason, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t punish him, if he thought necessary. And leaving the property without permission was probably a problem. 

“You really just noticing?” Dick asked, grinning wide, “We’ve been gone, like, half an hour.” 

Bruce sighed, and asked, almost defeated, “ _Why did you leave the grounds?”_

“Uh, to get ice cream,” Dick scoffed, “Why else?” 

“ _Dick, you can’t just bring Jason out into Gotham—_ “ 

_“_ I can, actually,” Dick interjected, completely cutting of whatever Bruce was about to say.

So… was _Dick_ the one in trouble? 

Jason wasn’t sure he was okay with that, either. 

“You’re not his warden,” Dick added. 

_“What?”_ Bruce said, clearly started by how his voice went a little higher, _“No, I’m not— that’s not what I meant. It’s not_ safe _for him in Gotham, he’s a witness in a high profile case against the mob, Dick, in case you forgot.”_

____

____

Dick rolled his eyes dramatically, clearly as a show for Jason, as he said, “I didn’t _forget,_ okay? We aren’t in Gotham. Have you seriously not tracked my phone yet?” 

Bruce hesitated, for a long second, and finally said, “ _I promised Jason I wouldn’t track him_.”

“Wow,” Dick said, laughing a little, “I didn’t know that was something I could ask of you.” 

_“Dick…”_

“I’m kidding, geez. I know you stalk me because you love me. But seriously, we aren’t in Gotham. We’re at Dave’s Drive In in Bristol. Didn’t even get out of the car, okay? No mob will be getting us here,” Dick moved his arm over toward Jason as if to elbow him, but didn’t actually make contact with Jason’s arm, and added, “Right, Jason?”

“Uh,” he stammered, “Yeah.” The mob didn’t come out to Bristol much, anyway. Jason had only ever been to Bristol when on away jobs with clients who lived there. 

Bruce sighed very loudly, and sounded very put out by the whole ordeal. But he didn’t sound pissed or anything. 

Dick only grinned wider, and said, “And, you know, actually I really wanted to take him to the mall, so you should come join us.” 

“ _Dick…”_ Bruce sighed, but Dick wasn’t having any of it. 

“Shh, I wasn’t done. Jason needs another hoody.” 

“ _I thought you were letting him—“_ Bruce said, but Dick cut him off.

“ _Yes,_ but I wanna get him a second one.” 

“ _Okay, but we can order that—“_

Again, Dick cut Bruce off and said, “Also, you have to buy him a phone.” 

No he didn’t, Jason wanted to shout. He didn’t need a phone. He didn’t want a phone. But Jason found his voice to be frozen, while Bruce responded. 

_“A phone?”_

“Yeah,” Dick said, in exaggerated frustration, “I gotta have a way to text my little foster brother _without_ adults snooping on us. So. Phone.” 

_Foster brother?_

He hadn’t even thought about that. If Bruce was his ‘foster dad,’ then he supposed it _did_ go to reason that Dick was his _foster brother._

“ _Oh,”_ Bruce stammered, _“I don’t know…_ “ he took a second, clearly thinking it over, before he added, “ _Okay, yeah. That’s probably a good idea. Then we could text him when dinner’s ready, and such._ ” 

That… was an upside. Maybe he would stop skipping meals on accident, because he got caught up reading and lost track of time, and no one ever came and knocked on his door. Which he _highly_ appreciated. 

He knew it was their house and they could barge into his room whenever they wanted, but he really liked that they didn’t… 

“Yeah, exactly,” Dick said, “Wanna meet us at the Bristol mall in twenty?” 

_“Sure,”_ Bruce said, _“But don’t get out of the car until I’m there. I’ll bring a disguise for him.”_

Dick looked over at Jason and rolled his eyes almost _fondly,_ and said, “You’re so paranoid, fine.” 

“ _Okay. Park by Barnes and Noble and I’ll meet you there.”_

Barnes and Noble the new bookstore… 

Jason… Jason kind of really wanted to go to a new bookstore. He’d only ever been to used bookstores in his life, the rare very few times he’d been to bookstores. Donny had taken him a couple times, usually as a way to apologize for a particularly awful client, although Jason knew it was always more like _Sorry about that but I won’t keep it from happening again if they pay well. Pick out a couple books so you’ll keep your trap shut about it._

Bruce, though… Bruce said he would buy Jason whatever books he wanted, all he had to do was _ask._ So. Would he bring Jason into the bookstore? And let him pick out a new book?

Although with the amazing library at Wayne Manor, Jason didn’t see himself _needing_ new books for many, many years. 

If ever.

After Dick had said goodbye and hung up the phone, he took one more bite of his ice cream.

And Jason wasn’t sure what to do. He was done with his ice cream. The last thing he wanted was to get sick in Dick’s beautiful car, or in a bookstore. Or while hoody shopping. But he also felt bad not finishing it, since Dick had paid for it and everything. 

But Dick must have picked up on it, because he pointed at Jason’s cup and said, “You done?”

“Yeah,” Jason said.

“Cool, I’ll finish it off for you, if you want.” 

Gladly, Jason handed the cup over to Dick, who scarfed down the ice cream in two large bites. 

“Wanna try death by chocolate,” he asked, offering Jason his cup, “I’ve got a bite left.” 

Jason _was_ curious, so he said, “Uh, sure,” and accepted the cup. 

And, just as expected, it was way too chocolatey for his tastes. By like. A million. It was too rich and too sweet. 

It was good, of course. The chocolate was delicious, but incredibly overwhelming and Jason didn’t see the appeal in cramming so much chocolate into ice cream. 

“So which do you like more,” Dick asked, as he took the cup back and tossed all their trash into the little trashcan next to the car, “butter pecan or death by chocolate?”

“Butter pecan,” Jason said, without having to think too hard. It was the obvious choice. 

Dick grinned widely as he put his key into the ignition and started the car. “Awesome. I think we should make a bracket. Butter pecan beats death by chocolate. We’ll get two different flavors next time.” 

“Like march madness?” Jason asked, furrowing his brow a little. Why would they take ‘finding his favorite’ ice cream so seriously? 

“Yep, exactly.” 

Jason rolled his eyes, but had to rest his face into his arm, propped up against the door so he could hide his smile. It sounded really dumb, but in a fun sort of way. 

“Come on, buckle up,” Dick said, “I want to beat Bruce there so we can call him a slowpoke.” 

And that wouldn’t make Bruce mad? Jason thought, as he sat up properly and fastened his seatbelt. Although Dick seemed to enjoy making Bruce mad. Or… exasperated, at least. If the phone conversation were any indication. 

That was a mindset Jason didn’t understand. At _all._ Making adults, especially _big_ adults like Bruce, mad on purpose was just asking for trouble. An absolute terrible way to live life. 

But Dick seemed pretty happy, regardless, so maybe… 

“You know,” Dick said, after they’d been driving for a few minutes, “Bruce really isn’t someone to be scared of.” 

Jason looked over, but didn’t say anything in response. He knew Dick truly believed that. 

Which meant in ten years of living with him, Bruce never did anything to make Dick afraid of him.

Which… was a thing. A thing Jason didn’t know how to deal with. 

He’d never met a big guy like Bruce who _wasn’t_ scary sometimes. All big guys talked with their fists, when angry. 

Right?

“You’ll see, eventually,” Dick said, when all Jason did was continue to stare. 

And Jason… Jason kind of hoped so. 

If Dick were being real, Bruce sounded almost… pleasant to live with. 

_That_ being the case wasn’t something he would have _ever_ hoped for, not in a million years. 

But… it was possible… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have failed at responding to comments like I said I was gonna try to do. Sorry 😖 But I love your comments, so thanks for leaving them anyway. 🥰


	21. Chapter 21

They beat Bruce to the mall by about five minutes, parking in the very back of the lot, right in front of Barnes and Noble as promised. Dick was very proud of that fact, if his stupid grin when Bruce parked beside them was any indication. 

“We look like we’re doing a drug deal,” Dick said, once he rolled down Jason’s window so Bruce could lean in. 

Bruce rolled his eyes and passed Jason his ‘disguise.’

A pair of glasses and a baseball cap. 

Because apparently Bruce was typical celebrity. 

How the fuck did glasses and a baseball cap hide his identity? They didn’t. But Jason put them on anyway.

The glasses were weird. Jason had assumed they were just sunglasses, but they weren’t. They were those weird transition glasses, that turned into regular glasses away from sunlight, because they had dimmed a little in the shade of the car. 

“How do they feel?” Bruce asked, when Jason looked up and around.

Why did Bruce just _have_ kid sized glasses laying around? The kind without any prescription in them? Just… plain glasses?

“Fine,” Jason said after a moment. They didn’t make his head hurt or anything, so that was probably the right answer. 

Jason pulled the hat back off and readjusted the size, so it fit a little more snug, and decided he was probably as ‘disguised’ as he would be. 

“Relax, Bruce,” Dick said, a bit soothingly, “It’ll be fine.” 

When Jason finally looked up at Bruce, all he saw was Bruce frowning. Bruce, with his clean looking face… 

“Didn’t you have a bruise?” Jason asked, scrutinizing Bruce’s face. He knew for a _fact_ he had a bruise on the right side of his face, along the jawline. 

But now… there was nothing. 

Bruce’s hand shot up to his face, but he stopped himself before he actually touched his face. 

“You’re wearing makeup?” Jason asked a touch incredulously. Why did he even know how to use makeup that well?

“Yeah,” Dick said, cutting Bruce off before he started speaking, “Bruce is a klutz and hurts himself _all the time._ It’s way easier than having some asshole snapping a picture and plastering it all over the papers, speculating on what happened, when really he just fell off a horse, or whatever.” 

“Motorcycle,” Bruce said, stepped back from the car as he rubbed at his neck, “I crashed my bike this time.” 

Yeah, and Jason’s mom _fell down the stairs._ Right. 

But who was beating up _Bruce Wayne?_ It wasn’t like he was married or anything. And Jason usually knew where Alfred was, while Bruce was _out._ Plus, there was no way it was Alfred beating him up. 

“Come on,” Bruce said, motioning with his hand for Jason to get out of the car and follow. Apparently Dick had already got out, and was standing next to Bruce, smiling wide. 

At least it was Bruce getting beat up, Jason thought, as he got out of the car. Had it been _Dick_ lying about and hiding away injuries, Jason would have way more to worry about. 

He did not like getting beat up. 

But, then again, he’d known Dick for less than one day. It was very possible… 

“Have you ever been to this mall?” Dick asked, skipping to be by his side as they walked toward the mall entrance, Bruce following along behind them. 

Jason shook his head. He’d never been to any mall. Not the giant, indoor type, at least. 

“Well, it’s huge,” Dick said, excitedly, “and has a lot of neat stores. Do you like salsa? There’s an awesome salsa and hot sauce store that lets you try anything they sell.” 

That was neat, he supposed. But he didn’t particularly care, so he shrugged. Salsa was fine. He could take it or leave it. 

“Dick,” Bruce said, slightly admonishingly, “let’s keep it simple today. I don’t want to be out longer than necessary, and setting up a new phone will already take a while.” 

“Fine,” Dick sighed, dramatically. 

So no bookstore then, Jason thought, as he shoved his hands into his hoody pocket. Which was fine. He didn’t really want to be at the mall anyway. The faster they got it over with, the better. 

“But one day I’m bringing Jason to the mall without you, and we will eat all the free samples.” 

“Once it’s safe and Jason wants to,” Bruce said, his voice sounding like he was smiling. Although Jason just knew if he turned around and looked, his mouth would still be in a flat line. 

“So what first?” Dick asked, just as they reached the doors to Barnes and Noble. Jason thought they’d go toward the main mall entrance, instead, but they _didn’t._

But he also knew the store would have an entrance to the greater mall, so maybe they were just walking _through_ Barnes and Noble. 

That was good enough for Jason. 

“Since we’re here,” Bruce said, opening the interior door and holding it for them to walk through, after Dick had done the same with the exterior door, “Let’s start here. Then get the hoody, then hit the Apple Store. I don’t want to carry around an Apple bag longer than necessary.” 

_Here?_ Jason thought, trying not to smile. He really wanted to look around. 

“He’ll need a case,” Dick said, as they stopped near a table of _nooks._ Jason had no idea what _nooks_ were, but looking at them was pretty neat, “Should we go to Best Buy?”

“I have half a dozen extras at home, he can use one of those until whatever he picks out online comes in.” 

They were like, electronic books. Using one probably wasn’t as nice as holding the book in his hands, but he could see the benefits. He could carry, like, ten books on it all at once. If he finished one book, he could start right in on another without having to bring extra books. 

“Okay,” Dick said, “There’s a couple new books I had my eye on, I’m gonna go see if they have them.” 

Jason tapped on the screen of the nook, to see what it would do. But nothing happened. 

“Those are just display,” Bruce said, startling Jason from where he’d stepped over to stand right next to him, looking down at the nook, “If you want to try one out, I have an old kindle at home I don’t use. It’s the same thing, just from Amazon.” 

“I was just looking,” Jason said, shrugging. He looked around, then, and saw Dick had wandered off already. 

Meaning. Jason was stuck with Bruce. 

Which was fine. Totally and completely fine. 

“Want to look around?” Bruce asked, holding a hand out as he gestured to the rows and rows and _rows_ of books for sale, beyond the table. 

The store was _massive._ Like. The size of a _grocery store,_ it was so large. 

So _yeah_ Jason wanted to look around. 

Bruce smiled one of his stupid little smiles when Jason nodded enthusiastically, and said, “Go on then. If you find something you want, just pick it up. I’ll get it for you.” 

Jason wanted to ask what the catch was, but if he were being forced into getting a phone anyway…it probably didn’t matter. He might as well get something _he_ wanted out of the deal, too. 

Whatever the deal was going to be… 

There was _always_ a catch when it came to expensive shit, Jason knew that. But he also knew Wayne wouldn’t fucking _tell_ him what it was, either. 

He looked around for a moment, a little lost at where to start. The store was fucking huge. But he decided the fiction section was probably the best place to start, so he went to the left, to what looked to be fiction. He’d seen _history_ above a couple bookshelves to the right.

Bruce followed him, walking a couple steps behind him, and Jason had to take a breath and try not to get annoyed.

Obviously Bruce would follow him around. He was afraid the mob would snatch him. It was just to protect him, he reminded himself, not to make sure he didn’t run away.

It wasn’t like Jason had anywhere to run to, anyway. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to try. 

Jason wandered down the new releases and best sellers aisle, and was a touch overwhelmed by all the options. And the lack of organization. 

The books were just kind of… everything. Fiction, nonfiction, self help. Politics. 

Just.

Everything. 

He had no idea where to even begin.

“You’ve read a lot of books the past couple week,” Bruce said, after Jason had stared at the same shelf of books for a full minute. 

“Yeah.” He was almost to fifteen books. It would have been more, but sometimes he hung out with Alfred instead. Which wasn’t a bad thing. 

“Has any particular genre piqued your interest?”

Not really, Jason thought as he shrugged. He’d been jumping all over the place. So far he hadn’t _hated_ anything, per se. Maybe not fully enjoyed a few things. 

“Alfred said you seem to like classics.” 

“Yeah,” Jason agreed, with another shrug. Quite a few of the books he’d put on his ‘favorites’ list were considered ‘classics.’ But Wayne Manor already had all the classics. Right?

“Hm,” Bruce hummed, sticking his hands into his pockets as he looked around the store. He was tall enough he could see over the shelves. He seemed to find what he was looking for and smiled, just a touch more. “Then come look at these.” 

Jason followed dutifully as Bruce lead him through the maze of shelves over to another table, hidden away up against the wall, closer to the other entrance to the store. 

“I’ve always thought these were some beautiful books,” Bruce said, as he gestured to the whole table full of classic “collector’s edition” books. 

And Jason had to admit… they were beautiful. Very ornate, and he loved how they all matched each other, even though they were a ton of different, very different books. 

There was Dune. Jane Austen. The Count of Monte Cristo. Little Women… 

Really, a bunch of things, some Jason had read, some not. 

“Go on, pick a few out,” Bruce said, when all Jason did was look at all the titles, circling the table so he could read them all.

“The library already has these,” he said. Even if he hadn’t read them all, he _had_ seen all of them in the library. 

“I meant for your room,” Bruce said, “To start your own collection.” 

_His own collection?_

It was one thing to purchase books for the _library_ that Jason could read, but to buy books specifically to occupy the shelves in his room? _New_ books. _That cost_ _$25 each?_

“Three, Jason,” Bruce said firmly, when Jason still didn’t make any move to pick up a book, “Pick three out and I won’t push you to buy anything else here. Although if you _want_ more things, I will happily purchase them for you.” 

_But what is the catch,_ Jason wanted to ask. He didn’t, though, and just took a deep, steadying breath as he looked back through the titles. 

He could pick three out. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen anyway. He could at least put three pretty books on his shelves and look at them. 

_And remember the price he had to pay…_

It took him several minutes to decide, but he finally settled on three anthologies, so it didn’t fully feel like spending $25 for a single book. The Charles Dickens anthology was three of his novels, while the Jane Austen one was _seven._ And the Sherlock Holmes, a series he hadn’t read yet, was _sixty stories._ So, overall, the price wasn’t super outrageous. 

Kind of… 

“Do you want me to carry them?” Bruce asked, once Jason had finally picked all three books up. 

He looked up, and furrowed his brow. The books were big, yeah, but not that big. Jason could certainly handle them, probably a lot easier than Bruce could, at the moment.

“Your arm is broken,” he said, hugging the books a little closer to his chest. He wasn’t gonna listen to Bruce bitch about how _Jason_ made that worse, by not carrying his own damn books. He… didn’t know if Bruce would do that, but he’d rather not find out. 

“It’s not broken,” Bruce said evenly, “just sprained. I don’t even have it wrapped anymore.” 

Which was just another stupid thing that would make the sprain worse and last longer, but Jason wasn’t going to criticize Bruce about it. 

When all Jason did was stare, Bruce sighed and said, “I can still carry three books.” 

Yeah but so could he, Jason thought. What he said was, “I’ve got it.” 

Bruce huffed a quiet little laugh and said, “Okay, then let’s go find Dick.” 

Dick, in the end, found them. He had two books in his hands, but Jason didn’t recognize either cover, and he didn’t want to bother Dick into letting him see what the titles were. 

At the register, Bruce swiped his card for all five books, but the nice lady put the books in two different bags, so Jason and Dick could each carry their own books. 

Even though Bruce offered to carry all of them. 

“Okay,” Bruce said, once they left Barnes and Noble through the mall entrance, “What kind of hoody do you want?” 

He shrugged. As long as Bruce let him wear it, he didn’t care. So, _not a Superman one._

Bruce kept saying his opinion on Jason’s clothes didn’t matter, but that didn’t mean Jason was going to pick clothes that Bruce specifically hated. 

“J.C. Penney has superhero stuff,” Dick said, squinting at one of the signs way down the hall, that pointed to where all the stores were, “but there’s a sports fan shop downstairs that has pretty much all the major teams.” 

Jason shrugged again. He didn’t care. 

“I’m sure there are plain hoodies somewhere, as well,” Bruce added, as if Jason would care at all. 

He didn’t. 

“Oh yeah,” Dick said, nodding and pointing at a clothing store across the hall, “Gap has plain ones.” 

“Right,” Bruce said, “Which sounds best, Jay?”

The longer they talked, the higher Jason’s shoulders inched upward. He _really_ wanted to pull his hood up, but he was afraid doing so would get them kicked out of the mall. Stores and shit didn’t like when punk little kids hid their face too much. 

“Gap is right here,” Bruce said, “Let’s see what they have. If you don’t like any of them, we’ll try somewhere else.” 

“Okay,” Jason said. But again. He didn’t care. As long as he was allowed to wear it, he didn’t care what it looked like. 

Well, that wasn’t true. As long as it wasn’t skin tight or see through, he didn’t care. He kind of doubted Bruce would buy him something like that, anyway.

Or that it would be sold at a shopping mall in _Bristol._

Jason followed Dick around, as he led their search for hoodies. At first, all they could find were hoodies that said “GAP” across the front. Jason didn’t care, but Bruce grumbled something about how paying to advertise a company was stupid. 

But in the back, they found a little shelf that had plain colored hoodies, tucked away and neatly folded in stacks. Jason reached out and pulled a sleeve free on one so he could run the fabric between his fingers, and he smiled very slightly. 

It felt just like the one he had as a little kid and still lived with his parents. Soft and thick and warm. That particular one was even the same shade of red. 

When he turned the price tag over, however, he froze. 

Because it cost _sixty-five dollars._

For a _hoody._

No wonder his mom had bought his several sizes too big. For _sixty-five_ dollars, he had to get several winters out of it. 

“Don’t look at the price tag,” Bruce said, making Jason jump. He’d forgotten he was being followed. Which was stupid. He needed to stop getting lost in his own thoughts and forgetting where he was. Or who he was with, more specifically… 

“If you like it,” Bruce continued, “I’ll get it for you.”

_But it was sixty-five dollars._

That was more than what a lot of his clients paid for an hour of his time. And a lot of times, they only bought _half_ an hour. It was very easily _three clients_ to pay off the one hoody. That, plus the books, plus the phone… 

Jason toyed with the drawstring on his hoody, and tried to slow his heart-rate back down. He was being ridiculous. 

Bruce… Bruce wasn’t making him pay it back. He said he wasn’t. 

So Jason shouldn’t be adding up all the things Bruce was buying him and freaking out over how many clients it took. Because it didn’t matter. 

Right? 

_How could it not matter?_

All Bruce had actually said was he wouldn’t touch Jason… 

Bruce took a couple steps forward, then knelt down right next to Jason, so he was right at eye level with him. “Do you like this one?” he asked, pulling the hoody Jason had been touching off the shelf. 

Jason cut his eyes over at Bruce, but didn’t answer. _Yes,_ he _did_ want the hoody. But he didn’t want to know what Bruce wanted in exchange for everything. His bag of books was feeling heavier and heavier with every second, and he hadn’t even seen the price tag on the phone. 

Phones had monthly bills, too. 

The hoody, plus the books, plus the phone, plus everything else Bruce had already bought for him, all means Jason was already _so far_ in debt. And without seeing clients, he didn’t know how he was going to make up for it. How he was going to pay it all back.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Bruce asked, softly, his voice near a whisper. 

Jason took a deep breath, and shook his head. 

“Nothing’s wrong?” Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Of course he didn’t believe him. Jason didn’t believe himself. 

“No” he whispered, “it’s—it’s too much.” He didn’t want a hoody anymore. He was fine with the Batman one. Just the Batman one. 

Bruce looked down at the hoody in his hands, and found the price tag on the sleeve. After he flipped it over and read the price, he looked back at Jason and said, “It’s okay, Jason. I can afford this.” 

“But—“ Jason started to protest, but snapped his mouth shut. He hadn’t meant to…

Bruce just looked at him patiently, though, and didn’t seem the least bit upset that Jason had tried to back talk him. 

No adult _ever_ was okay with back talk.

What the fuck was wrong with Bruce Wayne?

“You,” Jason said, clenching his free hand into a fist so tight, his nails started to dig into his palm. His eyes were burning, and Jason did _not_ want to start crying. At the fucking mall. In front of Bruce. 

_Again._

“You’re spending so much on me,” he said, “What—“ _do you want in return,_ he couldn’t finish. 

Not without letting go. 

And he couldn’t let go. 

“Yes, Jason,” Bruce said, gently, “That’s my job as your foster parent. To buy you the things you need. Remember all those papers I signed at the police station?” 

The ones that distracted him so Officer Asshole could corner him? Jason nodded. 

“They had me promise to buy you the things you need and to care for you. As far as I can tell, you need books and you need clothes and you need a cell phone.” 

But no one just bought things for someone without expecting _something_ in return. 

“Donny,” he started, but had to pause to take his glasses off and scrub at one of his eyes. The burning had got so intense, he almost couldn’t keep himself under control. 

“What did Donny do?” Bruce prodded, still in his gentle fucking voice, sounding like he cared the world about it and wanted to fix everything. 

Which was all it took. 

“He-“ Jason cried, “I had to—“ 

Why the fuck was he _crying_ over this? He never cried about it. It’s just how it _was._

_What was wrong with him?_

Bruce scooted a little closer, so he was mere inches away from Jason, but still somehow not touching him at all, and whispered, “It’s okay. Did he make you repay him?” 

Jason nodded, and set his bag of books down and put his glasses in his pocket so he could press his balled up sleeves into his eyes. He had to quit crying. If he started making noise, it would just make a scene and he didn’t want people questioning why a fucking _twelve-year-old_ was crying in the middle of the damn mall. 

Dick walked up to Jason’s other side, he knew, because he could hear Dick’s converse squeak as he approached. He leaned over and said, just as softly as Bruce had been talking, “Jay, I’m the one buying you the hoody, anyway. And it’s a gift. I don’t want anything in return.” 

“And I want nothing in return for _anything_ I buy you,” Bruce added, “It’s my job as foster parent to provide for you, it would be wrong of me to ask for things in return.” 

_That never stopped people before,_ Jason thought bitterly. Even his own dad had made him steal shit, to ‘carry his own weight’ as he got older. Or run errands. Or even stupid shit like get him a beer from the fridge. There was _always_ a price for things. 

_So why were the Waynes any different?_

_“_ I promise, Jason,” Bruce soothed, “We just want you to be safe and happy. There are no strings attached.” 

Jason nodded, but he didn’t move his hands quite yet. He was still working on _not crying._

“Okay,” Bruce said, exhaling a little roughly as he stood to his full height, “how about we check out and take a break.” 

“Ooh,” Dick said, right back to cheerful, “Let’s get pretzels.”

 _Pretzels,_ Jason thought, as he laughed a little through what he hoped were the last of his tears. How was Dick even hungry? 

Dick grinned, when Jason finally scrubbed at his eyes and looked up at him. 

“What size?” he asked, taking the hoody out of Bruce’s hands, “The one you’re wearing is a small, but I always thought it fit more like a medium. This is an extra small, I think it’ll fit you better.” 

Jason looked down at the hoody he was wearing and said, “I like,” but had to pause to hiccup, a little. 

“Ah,” Dick said, before Jason recovered and finished his sentence, “Got it.” He folded and put the hoody in his hands back, then dug through the pile of red hoodies. He found a small and pulled it out, then unfolded it and held up up to Jason. “This one?” he asked. 

The hoody looked smaller than his Batman one, but it still looked plenty big enough to be comfortable. It was definitely at least three sizes too big for him. So he nodded. 

Bruce reached down and picked up Jason’s bag of books before Jason could protest, and led them over to the checkout. 

When the total rang up to over $70, Jason had to look away. Even though Dick was the one who swiped his card for it. 

They _promised_ they wanted nothing in return. Jason wasn’t sure if he believed them, but he really had no choice but to try. Crying about how _maybe_ bad things could happen was stupid. He should save it for when bad things _actually_ happened.

And then maybe not cry at all. He’d survived years with Donny not crying about miserable shit, it was stupid to be crying over a hoody now. 

“Come on,” Dick said, once the cashier handed him the bag and receipt, “We need pretzels and soda.” 

_Yeah,_ he thought, as he followed Dick to some vending machines while Bruce went and ordered them some pretzels, even though Jason said he wasn’t hungry, _he should try to enjoy the not bad things happening._

It was fucking stupid to be crying when literally nothing bad had happened yet. 

Especially since there was a real possibility nothing bad would ever happen…. 

A small one, but a real one. 

So far Dick and Bruce had been nice. If it stayed that way, well. Jason _could_ see himself being happy. 

Happy and safe, just like Bruce said he wanted. 

Jason wanted that, too… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: hm, is it too soon for Jason to be thinking about considering starting to trust Bruce?  
> me @ me: CAIT IT HAS BEEN 70K WORDS NO IT'S NOT TOO SOON
> 
> 🙃


	22. Chapter 22

Jason spent about ten minutes picking at his pretzel and slowly sipping at the Dr. Pepper he’d picked out from the vending machine. Dick had scarfed down his pretzel, and Bruce ate his pretty quickly, too, but not in three bites like Dick. 

Which just left Jason sitting there, picking the salt off and eating it one tiny bite at a time. 

“You don’t have to finish it,” Bruce told him, and he believed it and all. He figured Dick would probably polish it off, so it didn’t go to waste. But it also wasn’t like they were doing anything in particular, either.

Just sitting there, in a tucked away little area of the food court to “take a break.” And Jason was fucking _tired_ and kind of liked just sitting there. 

Dick filled the silence with stories of his travel, updating Bruce on all the neat places he’d been so far this summer. 

But Jason mainly tuned him out. Dick and Bruce interacted so… strangely. 

Like… like. They were comfortable around each other. Good friends, even. Dick kept picking at Bruce, saying things like he _knew_ it would annoy Bruce, but every time it happened, Bruce just grumbled or rolled his eyes. 

He never got angry. At all. 

And Dick seemed to _love it_ when Bruce rolled his eyes, because every time he grinned in response. 

It… it was something else. The idea that Bruce really _was_ just a well-meaning idiot that played with fire in trying to ‘rescue’ Jason, after having done the exact same thing with Dick left him feeling… weird. It made his chest all staticky. 

_How on earth was any of this real?_

_Was_ it real? 

Jason… Jason didn’t know. He wasn’t sure. 

He picked another piece of salt off his pretzel and put it in his mouth, letting the little rock melt away on his tongue. The sharp flavor was nice. Something to concentrate on that wasn’t his mind picking apart every single word Bruce had ever said and trying to make sense of it. 

“You okay, Jase?” Dick asked, placing his hand on the seat back behind Jason, several inches behind him since Jason was slumped forward, leaning on his arm on the table, “You really don’t have to eat the pretzel if you don’t want it.” 

“I’m fine,” he mumbled back before picking up the edge of his pretzel to take an actual bite. 

He also wasn’t quite sure what to think of Dick himself. He was so… nice. 

Nice for no fucking reason. Friendly. He’d brought him away from the manor, bought him ice cream and a hoody, and even argued with Bruce in order to _keep_ him away from the manor for a little longer. And get him a phone. Probably, at least, since that hadn’t actually happened yet.

Dick had no reason to be so nice to Jason, and yet there he was. Did he feel bad? That Jason was stuck with Bruce now, and he’d gotten away?

Probably not. He’d said himself he wouldn’t come back if Bruce had ever touched him. And Alfred said Bruce never touched him, and Bruce said Bruce never touched him. 

And how could he be so comfortable with Bruce, if they were all lying and he had? Jason could act pretty good, and flirt and banter with his clients and shit just fine, making them all think he liked them and liked _it,_ but that was because he didn’t have to _live_ with them. 

It was easy to be on for an hour or two, or a night. 

But his whole fucking life? 

Maybe, if it was the only way to survive. But he sure as fuck wouldn’t purposely try to make them mad, and disobey them just cause. 

“We can go home,” Bruce said, after another minute had passed. Jason hadn’t even realized, but they’d both gone completely silent. When he looked up, he saw two faces looking at him with fucking _concern._

Which was dumb. Sure, he’d cried earlier, but he wasn’t gonna fucking do it again. 

He was never gonna cry ever ever again, if he could help it. 

“Bruce, you have to get him a phone,” Dick whined. 

“I will,” Bruce said, slightly exasperated, “but we don’t have to do that in person. I can order it online, if Jason is done shopping.” 

“I don’t care,” Jason said, maybe slightly a little exasperated himself. He didn’t want a phone, didn’t want Bruce to drop like another thousand dollars on him, but he supposed he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, either.

Plus, he kind of liked the idea of having one. Even if just for the reasons Dick said. So he could text people instead of having to see them in person all the time. Like Alfred, to know when dinner was ready. 

Or Bruce, he supposed. If he had to. 

“Dick could also bring you home and I can go get your phone myself,” Bruce said, “I would like for you to have some choice in the matter, but if it’s too much you don’t have to be there.” 

“It’s not too much,” Jason grumbled. He needed to get used to everything, probably. And what kind of a baby was he, if he went running home with his tail between his legs all because he got upset _shopping._

Bruce was gonna buy him a phone regardless, so he might as well be there to see it and know how much it was costing. 

Not that… that apparently mattered. Supposedly. 

He sat up, a little, and pushed his pretzel over toward Dick. 

“You done?” Dick asked. When Jason nodded, he grinned and finished the pretzel off, just like Jason anticipated he’d do. 

“All right then,” Bruce said, as he stood up and collected up all their trash, “Let’s get moving.” 

When they got to the Apple store, which was bright white and super fucking pretentious looking, some dude walked up to them and ‘checked them in.’ Because apparently that’s what happened at rich people stores. 

Bruce told him they were after, “Whatever the newest iPhone is, we’ll be adding a line to the family plan, for him,” and motioned toward Jason. 

It didn’t faze the dude at _all_ that they were apparently buying something that cost a grand without doing any research or even knowing the proper name of it.

Because, again, rich people store. Apparently that was how rich people shopped. 

It was insane. 

“That’s great,” the guy said, as he started tapping at his tablet, “How about we set you up at the display over here, so you can try each one of them out while you wait.” 

“Excellent,” Bruce said, as he shepherded Jason on over to where the dude was leading them. 

Jason shrank into his hoody, a little, while the guy was pointing out the _iPhone SE,_ and pulled the collar up with his chin, so it was resting right below his nose, half of his face inside it. 

“This one comes in three colors,” the guy said, as he pointed at three phones, one black, one white, and one red, “and it is our smaller model. It should be much easier for your son to handle than the iPhone 11, but if you want to see those instead, they’re right over there,” he pointed at a display a table over, then continued, “We’ll have someone out to assist you with the purchase as soon as they’re available.” 

“Thanks,” Bruce said. Once the guy smiled and walked back over to the entrance, to help other people, he turned toward Jason and asked, “So what do you think, Jase. Do you want one of these, or one of the bigger phones?” 

“I don’t care,” he mumbled, as he readjusted the hoody’s collar to be over his nose. But Bruce frowned at him, so he shook his head and let the collar fall back to where it was meant to be. 

“Hm.” Bruce picked up one of the phones, the red one, and turned it over. The phone pulled on a wire, that was attached to the table, most likely to prevent people from lifting it. Made _way_ more sense how they could just keep expensive ass phones sitting on a table. Even if they were in Bristol, sticky fingers would easily walk off with them, otherwise. 

Dick leaned up against the table, on the other side of Jason from Bruce, and said, “I do think he’s right, the littler phone will be easier to hold. It will fit in your pants pockets, too, while the bigger phones probably wont.” 

“That’s fine, I don’t care,” Jason snapped. He just wanted to get it over with. 

“Okay,” Bruce said, still frowning, but Jason didn’t know how to make him _not_ frown. And he just wanted to get it over with so they could leave. “We’ll get one of these. Red is your favorite color, right?” He held the display phone out for Jason to take. 

“Yeah,” Jason said slowly, as he reached out for the phone. Had he told Bruce that? When Dick asked that morning, he’d just shrugged. Because it was his, like, forty-fifth question and he’d been over the conversation. But he didn’t remember Bruce ever asking him for his favorite color. 

The red of the phone was nice, he had to admit, once he had it in his hand and started looking at it. And he could hold the phone just fine with one hand, so the dude was right there. 

“Do you like it?” Bruce asked, so Jason just nodded. 

It was fine. The price on the screen said it was only four hundred dollars, too. Which was _way_ better than what he’d been expecting. Still a lot of fucking money, but not more than a month of rent, either. 

Bruce smiled, slightly, and said, “Perfect, then we’ll get that one.” 

“Great,” Jason mumbled. He sat the phone back on its little stand thing, and shoved his hands into his hoody pocket. 

Dick stood up and asked, “Want to come look at the cases and such, Jay? While Bruce waits to purchase the phone?”

“Good idea,” Bruce said, “I don’t have any cases for this size phone at home. Get him a screen protector, at least.”

“You got it.” 

Jason suffered through the entire thing, following Dick around to the small little displays on the walls, all around the store. In the end, he was forced into buying a glass screen protector, which sounded fucking stupid to him. It was a piece of glass they were going to put on the screen, apparently. Because screens broke easily so they had to spent $30 extra dollars to break _that_ piece of glass instead. Dick also made him pick out a case, and in the end he got a red one that said it could protect the phone from drops and stuff. In total they were gonna spend _another_ $100 on the phone.

He wanted to be sick. 

His brain kept tallying up all the purchases they were making for him, and all he could think about was _how_ could Bruce possibly not want anything in return.

Bruce was rich, he kept reminding himself, money meant _nothing_ to him. So. So. It shouldn’t matter. 

_Plus,_ Bruce had already paid a shit ton of money just to _have_ Jason. So… it didn’t matter? 

Even though… Jason had never once in his entire life met a person who didn’t _care_ how much money they spent on someone else…

And Bruce had probably spent well over 15 thousand dollars, already. 

Yep. He was totally going to be sick.

Instead, though, he just sank down into his hoody a little more, and followed Dick silently back over to Bruce, who was chatting with an employee, the new phone sitting on the table in front of them, still inside its box.

“Jay,” Bruce said, once they got back over, “there you are. We’re about to get it set up.” 

In total, it took about half an hour to get from the phone in the box, to in Jason’s hands, fully activated and ready to go. They put the screen protector and case on it on the spot, and Jason was assigned a number and everything. 

It was neat, he had to admit. But by the time they were done, Jason was _so over_ being at the mall. And just wanted to go home and curl up in his room, and maybe take a nap. 

By himself. 

Far away from both Bruce and Dick.

Thankfully, they _did_ go on home after. On the car ride there, however, Dick talked Jason’s ear off, recommending a ton of different games to download and play. Jason did find a couple of them, because apparently the games were free, and then started browsing through the app store himself. 

Some of the games required other people to play with, like the scrabble knock off, but Dick said he’d play it with Jason, and if he wanted, Bruce or Alfred would play it with him, too. But he could also play it online with random strangers, which sounded way better. 

Although he wouldn’t mind playing with Alfred…

Other games, like one where he was supposed to plant flowers and shit to fight zombies, were one person games, and actually looked pretty fun. 

And once at home, Dick started up a scrabble game with him and let Jason go on to his room by himself, his new hoody and books in tow, as long as he promised to play his turn. 

Which was exactly what Jason did. He played his _one_ turn, and then fell asleep in one of the armchairs in his room, snuggled down into his batman hoody, happy to ignore _everything_ at least for a while longer.

\- - - 

Jason woke several hours later, when his phone dinged _really loud_ and vibrated, from where it’d fallen between Jason and the back of the armchair. And by woke, he actually jumped. Almost hard enough to fall off the chair.

Thankfully, the phone was perfectly fine. He needed to be more careful about where he set it, because like _hell_ did Jason want to break the phone, or even the stupid overpriced piece of glass on it. Because he was going to try his best not to go further into debt with Bruce. 

Just in case. 

Clicking the screen on, Jason found a text from Bruce, which read, ‘ _Dinner’s ready, if you want to join us.’_

Jason unlocked the phone and navigated to the messages app, just as another text came in. 

_‘We’re having baked chicken with veggies.’_

With a sigh, Jason got to his feet and started trudging downstairs. He wasn’t supposed to skip meals, and his stupid phone _told_ Bruce he’d seen the text message.

Getting a phone was a major mistake, he already knew it. Now instead of just hiding away in his room when he didn’t want to talk to any of them, they could text him. And they’d know he saw the text and was ignoring them.

And what would Bruce do? If he knew for a fact Jason was ignoring him and disobeying the whole ‘don’t skip meals’ thing on purpose? 

Jason groaned, as he pulled his hood up and tromped down the stairs. He hated this. 

_Hated_ it.

But there was nothing he could fucking do about it. 

Except go to the dining room, and deal with it. 

It wouldn’t even be bad. Jason could handle eating meals with Bruce every day. He could. As long as Bruce really _didn’t_ touch him. 

If…if they were all being for real, and Bruce _really_ wasn’t a pedophile… 

Jason could handle pissing him off every once in a while, right? Or. Or he could just _not_ piss him off, and eat food with him and do whatever else he wanted. Because. Jason could handle it. He could.

He lived with his dad, after all. And his dad was so fucking _easy_ to set off. He’d been living with Bruce for almost two weeks, and Jason hadn’t actually set him off once. So it was likely rare that it would happen.

_Plus, Dick wasn’t afraid of Bruce._

_At all._

“Glad you could join us, lad,” Bruce said, when Jason walked into the dining room and took his seat, across from Dick. He had his stupid not smiling smile on his face and just looked so fucking _happy_ Jason had come down.

But…

Not in a ‘good, that little bastard better do what I say’ sort of way. 

More like he was just… happy Jason came down. Dick, too, had a bright smile on his face

Yeah, Jason thought. He could handle it all. So far, he was okay. And there was a chance it would stay that way, too. 

And not just a small chance, anymore, either. 

But, like. A big chance. Fifty-fifty, if he had to put odds on it. 

It… it was the highest chance everything was okay in his life, he thought. Which was a little weird to think about. 

Some rich guy went and _bought him,_ or. Bought a week of his time and then flat out _kept him_ and… it might be okay. 

Was that even possible? 

Jason kind of really hoped it was… he was tired of not being okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had been doing this project for Nanowrimo, which is why updates were coming so often last month. I slowed down significantly once november was over, and now I have my furlough from work coming up, which I'll spend at home with my parents (over christmas for a couple weeks) so I don't know how many updates will happen this month. In January I plan on doing another nano-style month, but focusing on The Best Things instead, because I'm so far behind on that fic. 
> 
> So yeah. I'm glad you guys enjoyed the fast update schedule last month, but it probably won't keep up. I'll continue working on it, though. I've got exactly a week before I start my drive home, and I hope to get at least one chapter more out this week, but we'll see. Maybe I'll get two! (Then I have no idea how many, if any, I'll get done while home. It's so hit or miss for me, whether I get writing while visiting my parents.) 
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting. ❤️ you all.


	23. Chapter 23

“Hey,” Dick said, just as Jason was finishing up his dinner and was about to escape back to his room, “Want to play a game after dinner?” 

Jason faltered. _No_ was the answer. He did _not_ want to play a game. 

But… Dick was only there for a couple days. And he’d come specifically to see Jason. So it was probably really rude to say ‘no’ and ditch him and hide in his room the rest of his visit.

Even if that’s all Jason wanted to do. 

And what would Bruce do, if Jason blew Dick off like that?

He didn’t feel like fighting, so Jason shrugged and said, “Sure.” 

“Bruce?” Dick asked. 

Jason had to suppress his desire to scowl. He didn’t want to play with Bruce. He didn’t have the energy to do anything with Bruce. Had he known Bruce would join them, he would have said his stomach hurt and gone and hid in his room more. Bruce would probably let him, if he thought he was sick. 

But Bruce shook his head and said, “I’ll come join you two later, I have something to finish up first.” 

Hopefully he’d get caught up in his work and forget. That’s what Jason was hoping, as he followed Dick toward the living room that had all the board games. 

“What game do you want to play?” Dick asked, as he started looking through the shelves of games. But Jason merely shrugged. He didn’t even know what most the games were, so he couldn’t even begin to choose one. 

Dick had probably played all of them with Bruce, for whatever reason that was. Either because Bruce just… liked playing games with him. Or because Bruce liked pretending Dick was his kid. Jason wasn’t sure which it was, anymore. 

Jason flung himself down on the couch, right in front of the coffee table where he assumed they’d play and crossed his arms. He didn’t know which Bruce he preferred, either. Because Jason didn’t know how to just… play games. With Bruce. For fun. How would he even do that, without pissing Bruce off to no end? If he had no way to… please him. He didn’t know how to deal with him, otherwise. 

“Okay,” Dick said, as he started digging through a basket of card games, “Have you ever played Uno?” 

He hadn’t, but it ended up being easy to learn. Dick sat on the floor across from the coffee table, so Jason could stay on the couch, and it ended up being not terrible. 

Dick kept the conversation light, and didn’t hound Jason for information about himself, too. Which was great.

But eventually playing Uno got boring, so Dick put the cards away and flipped on the TV. 

Watching TV wasn’t awful. He’d done that with Bruce once already, and it hadn’t been bad. Bruce talked a little, but not much. Couldn’t talk much when trying to pay attention to the show or movie, after all…

Or that’s what Jason thought. Because he grew tired of ‘TV _,’_ too, when Dick didn’t quit asking for Jason’s input every time he changed the channel. ‘Do you like this show, how about this one, what do you think of this one?’ 

Jason hadn’t even heard of _any_ of the shows Dick kept picking, so he didn’t have an opinion on _any_ of them. But every time Jason shrugged, Dick changed the channel and tried to find something else. 

“Come on,” he finally said, after they’d gone through at least fifteen channels, “there’s got to be something you like to watch on TV.” 

“I don’t really watch TV,” Jason admitted, as he curled up a little tighter on the couch. Dick had moved to an armchair, and Jason was highly considering getting a blanket out like Bruce said he always could. 

“Really?” Dick asked, as if he’d never heard of a person who didn’t watch TV. “Why not?” 

It wasn’t like Jason _never_ watched it. He’d watched it twice so far, since moving to the manor. But then again, that was _a lot,_ compared to how often he normally watched it. 

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging, “I never felt like fighting the other boys for the remote.” He wasn’t the _smallest_ kid in the house, but it was close. And he never felt like getting beat up or trying to beat someone else up, all over a stupid remote. It wasn’t worth it at all.

“Other boys?” Dick asked.

“At Donny’s house. There was one TV and nine of us,” Jason said, a little critically. Hadn’t Bruce _told_ Dick where he came from? 

Or maybe Bruce had just told Dick all about how Jason was a whore, and what kind of shitty clothes he had to wear, and nothing else. 

“Oh,” Dick said, “Then what did you do to pass time?”

Jason shrugged. He read. Or did his schoolwork. Or watched the other boys play video games, since that was often what the TV was used for, anyway. But it wasn’t like Dick actually cared. Or needed to know any of that. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re here now,” Dick said, after the silence stretched for a moment, “There’s plenty of things to do around here, and you won’t have to fight anyone for the TV. Especially since we’ve got more TVs than people here.” 

“Yeah,” Jason agreed. And so far, the couple times he’d _used_ the TV, no one had tried to change the channel on him. Bruce agreed to watch whatever crap Jason had been watching, and even seemed to enjoy it. 

Although Jason wouldn’t have objected to Bruce changing the channel. He didn’t care, anyway, what he watched. 

“Want to watch a movie?” Dick asked, after flipping through three more channels and finding ‘nothing’ for them to watch. 

With another shrug, Jason said, “sure,” and finally got up to get a blanket out of the basket. If they were going to watch a movie, he was definitely going to curl up under a blanket.

“Bruce said you’re reading through Harry Potter,” Dick said, scooting over to the tower of DVDs that were on either side of the TV, “how far have you gotten?” 

“I’m in the fourth book.” He hadn’t been reading them too eagerly, or anything. There were so many other books that were more interesting. But literally everyone on the planet had read Harry Potter, it seemed like, so Jason was trying to finish the series. 

“Awesome, want to watch the first movie then? I really like the movies, I think they are some of the best book adaptations done.”

“That’s fine,” he said, shrugging. Bruce had wanted Jason to watch the movies. Did it count, if he watched them not with Bruce? 

Jason’s hopes were dashed, however, when not even ten seconds later Dick turned around and smiled brightly. “Hey, Bruce,” he said, and Jason jumped and looked back at the doorway, where Bruce was lurking like a creepy stalker. 

“Hey, boys,” Bruce said, stepping into the room. He looked at Jason and held something black up in his hands and asked, “Can I show you how to use this?”

“Sure?” Jason asked, furrowing his brow. What even _was_ it? And why did Bruce even ask? If he wanted to do something, he should just do it. 

Bruce’s shoulders slumped, a little, but he walked up to the couch, behind Jason, and leaned over next to him so he could show Jason the thing in his hands. 

“This is the Amazon Kindle I told you about,” he said, as he held it out for Jason to take, “it’s like the Nook but hooked up to Amazon instead. I have a subscription with their unlimited reading thing, so that’s why I prefer it over the Nook.” 

Jason finally took it, after Bruce prompted him again. 

“It’s a touch screen,” Bruce said, after he reached over and pressed the power button, on the bottom of it. The little device popped to life, and a bunch of book covers showed up on the front page. But, in the weird black and not-white coloring that was the same as the Nook. 

Kinda cool, Jason had to admit. Because it reminded him of a page in a book. It was probably pretty easy to read off of, too, because of that. 

“So you can drag your finger across to swipe to the next screen of book,” Bruce said, as he demonstrated just that, “or tap to pick one. You can also find more books in the store, or do that from your phone and it’ll automatically be sent to the Kindle.” 

“That’s cool,” Jason said, watching as Bruce opened the store for him. 

Bruce kept going on, showing Jason how to use all the Kindle’s features, like the one that turned the screen’s _light on,_ meaning Jason could read it _in the dark._ Which was actually pretty fucking awesome and made him actually like the device. Bruce apparently also made Jason his own Amazon account, so he could pick out his own books and didn’t have to ‘deal with’ the stuff Bruce read mucking up the recommendations. He handed Jason the account info on a piece of paper, so he could log in on his phone, too. 

Overall, it was pretty cool. He could definitely see himself using it. 

“Okay, well, it’s all yours,” Bruce said, patting at the cushion right next to Jason. 

With a nod, Jason mumbled, “Thanks,” as he kept flipping through the popular fiction books that were available to him for free, with whatever subscription it was Bruce added him to. 

“My pleasure, kiddo. Let me know if there’s anything else you want, okay?”

Right. Jason swallowed, and nodded once. Because Bruce wanted him to want things, and wanted to get them for him. 

And supposedly wanted nothing in return for any of it. 

At least with the Kindle, it had already been laying around the house, it sounded like. So it wasn’t like Bruce spent more money on it. 

He hoped. 

“Want to watch a movie with us?” Dick asked, once Bruce stood back up and got out of Jason’s space. 

Not that he’d ever been super close, or anything. Or had even touched Jason. He’d just been far closer than he’d been since the first day. Before he decided to go with the whole, ‘I’m not gonna hurt you thing.’

Or. 

No. He’d always been claiming that. 

Right?

Cause he actually pushed Jason away from him, when Jason tried to flirt like Donny wanted… 

It took a second, but Jason realized Bruce had been looking at him, so he swallowed again and looked up. Just to see Bruce looking at him scrutinizingly. 

“Do you want me to watch a movie with you two?” he asked, still staring down at Jason. 

With a shrug, he turned his attention back to the Kindle, trying to find a few more books to download. He didn’t really care whether Bruce attended. As long as he left Jason alone and let him stay curled up under the blanket, that was. 

“You can say no, if you don’t want me here,” Bruce said. As if Jason would actually say ‘no go away you creep.’ 

Again. It didn’t bother him. As long as Bruce didn’t touch him, because he wasn’t ready to act. He could do it, if he had to, but he hadn’t had time to prepare. And it’d be easier if he could prepare.

But Bruce kept swearing he didn’t want anything. 

“It’s fine,” he said, clicking next page on his Kindle. 

Bruce sighed, though, like he always fucking did, and said, “Jay, it’s really okay to say ‘no.’” 

“I know, I heard you,” he said, maybe a little snappishly, with a roll of his eyes. Why did Bruce feel the need to harp on that? He _got it._ He just didn’t see the point in saying ‘no’ and pissing Bruce off by kicking him out of his own damn living room. Jason could fucking deal with whatever, he could. No matter what Wayne really wanted. 

“Okay,” Bruce said, but he was frowning. 

Did _Bruce_ not want to watch the movie? And was trying to use _Jason_ as the excuse to leave?

But Bruce had specifically said he wanted to watch Harry Potter with Jason… 

Bruce sat down in an arm chair, on the opposite side of the couch from where Jason was sitting. Just like he’d done before, when he watched TV with Jason. 

Which Jason appreciated.

Dick finally found the movie he was looking for, after mumbling about how Alfred had rearranged everything, and put it into the DVD player. “Oh,” he said, just as a preview popped up on screen, “Wait a minute, we need popcorn for a movie. I’ll go get that.” 

On his way out of the room, he tossed Bruce the remote, who caught it flawlessly despite having no warning at all. And wasn’t his arm hurt? 

“Are you going to read during the movie?” Bruce asked, a smile tugging at his lips when Jason looked up again from his Kindle. 

He hadn’t… really thought about it. But maybe… If the movie was boring. Or he found a book interesting enough.

“Uh, I can put it away,” he said, though, closing the cover over the screen. Because Dick and Bruce probably wanted him to pay attention… 

“No,” Bruce said, quickly, “that’s not what I meant. I just— I thought it was amusing. I’m very glad you like reading so much.” 

Jason nodded, slowly, because he had no idea what to do. Go back to his Kindle? Or try to pay attention to Bruce and whatever-the-fuck he wanted?

Bruce, apparently, was the right answer. Because he sighed, _again,_ and said, “Jason…” 

He waited. Because Bruce was clearly thinking about what he wanted to say, and Jason could feel the hairs on the back of his neck start to stand. He didn’t know what he’d done, or why Bruce was upset, or anything. 

At least he wasn’t spitting mad, and just seemed… upset. Disappointed? Maybe? Jason couldn’t tell. It was hard to figure out when Bruce’s face looked the fucking _same_ most the time. 

“I’m sorry I’m terrible at this,” Bruce finally said, just making Jason furrow his brow in response. 

Because.

What?

“I keep saying the wrong thing and making you uncomfortable, completely on accident,” he continued, “I just… I want you to be comfortable. I want you to be _happy.”_

All Jason could do was nod. Because… okay? 

But Jason was fine, so he didn’t get why Bruce thought he was _uncomfortable._

He was actually quite comfortable, in his batman hoody and wrapped up in the thick, fuzzy blanket he’d pilfered. Perfectly content. 

“I also know you don’t trust me,” Bruce said, after a moment had passed in silence, “and like I said before, I completely understand and am not upset by that. So if you don’t want me in here with you, I understand, and I will go away. I will always go away if you ask, no matter what.” 

Right, Jason thought, as he sank down on the couch a little more, and opened back up his Kindle. Because a dude would _really_ be fine being told to ‘fuck off’ in his own house. 

“So do you want me in here?” he asked. And Jason just rolled his eyes.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled. 

“I am serious Jason, I will leave if you want me to. I will not be upset or mad about it.”

“I said it's fine,” Jason snapped, “you can stay. I don’t care.” What the fuck was Bruce’s problem? 

One, Jason _really_ didn’t care. As long as Bruce didn’t do shit to him, he didn’t care at all. Jason could totally handle watching a damn movie with him. But two, why the fuck would Jason refuse something so damn simple? And risk making him mad?

Even if he said he _wouldn’t_ be mad…

Jason’s dad had said that plenty of times. _‘Just tell me, I won’t get mad.’_

Like _hell._ That was _always_ a fucking trap. 

“Okay,” Bruce finally said, “then I’ll stay. But if you want to kick me out later, you still can, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Jason mumbled. He wasn’t gonna kick Bruce out later, either, but whatever. 

Dick got back a couple minutes later, with three bowls of popcorn he passed out to each of them, then went and sat in the chair next to Bruce. Which was cool, Jason appreciated having his own bowl so he didn’t have to go sit near anyone else and share, and the couch to himself so could stay laying back against the armrest, his feet up on the cushion beside him so he could rest his Kindle on his thighs. 

He still wasn’t going to kick Bruce out, especially since he wasn’t fucking _doing anything._ But maybe that didn’t matter. 

Bruce said he wanted Jason to be _comfortable,_ and Jason _was_ comfortable. Perfectly content to sit there, reading some random book about made up superheroes he’d found, that was _totally_ a rip off of Superman, and completely ignoring the movie he was supposed to be watching. And being ignored by the adults in the room.

What else could he want?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We were supposed to get a snow storm today starting at 4pm, so my work sent me home early and my church told me not to come help out since I had a long drive and they didn't want me risking it. Then.... it didn't even start snowing until like 45 minutes ago (at like 10pm). So. Whatever. The afternoon/night off meant I got this chapter done. :D And I have tomorrow as a telework day, so maybe I'll get more writing done! I don't know, we'll see. I have a lot to do to prepare for my drive on Saturday, and, ya know, actual telework to get done. My project is due Friday. lol 
> 
> But if this is my last update before Christmas, Merry Christmas y'all. And if it's not, I'll just repeat that later. 😂 I hope you all have a lovely holiday. Thanks for reading. ❤️


	24. Chapter 24

The next morning, Jason woke up with plenty of time to get ready for the day, before breakfast. 

He kind of hated himself for it, though. Because he didn’t _really_ want to go eat breakfast with Dick and Bruce. After spending most the day with them the day before, he was kind of tired of it. But since he was up, and he knew they’d just text him or whatever to tell him to come downstairs, anyway, he put on his new hoody and dragged his feet all the way to the kitchen. 

“Jason,” Dick exclaimed, once Jason stepped into the kitchen, ‘I brought some contraband with me, want some for breakfast?” 

Before Jason could even ask what the hell he meant by _contraband,_ Alfred sighed, rather loudly, and said, “I will be happy to prepare you a plate of real food, should you prefer that, young sir.” 

“Lucky Charms is real food, they sell it at the grocery store and everything,” Dick said, shaking a box of cereal in Jason’s direction. 

They also sold shit like fire wood and bleach at the grocery store, Jason thought. But he didn’t want to start anything, and Alfred already looked annoyed enough. It’d probably get worse if Jason picked a fight with Dick over something stupid. 

“I don’t care either way,” Jason said, with a shrug after Dick had poured himself a bowl and looked back up at Jason questioningly. He’d never had Lucky Charms before. His mom thought they were ridiculous, and usually didn’t buy the name brand stuff anyway. 

“I am preparing a fresh pot of oatmeal,” Alfred said, turning back toward the stove to check on the pot, “you are welcome to a bowl of it. However, if you would prefer cereal, I will put the left overs in the fridge and we will eat it later.” 

Which was probably pretty true. Alfred had made muffins the week before out of the leftover oatmeal from breakfast. He’d probably do something cool like that again. 

Or Jason would eat left over oatmeal the next morning, he really didn’t care. 

“I guess I’ll try the cereal,” he said, after another moment. Dick grinned, and grabbed Jason down a bowl and poured him some. He handed Jason the bowl and grabbed the bottle of milk from the fridge. After each of them had put some milk in the cereal, they went into the dining room, where they sat alone.

Bruce wasn’t in there. 

Which, Jason wasn’t complaining about, of course. He just hadn’t expected Bruce to _not_ be there. He was _always_ there, unless he had some reason to miss a meal. Like work or whatever.

But he never had work during breakfast. 

“I think Lucky Charms are one of my favorite cereals,” Dick said, as he took his seat next to where Bruce usually sat. Jason sat down across from him, like Dick had prompted him to do the day before. “I never buy it, though. Too much sugar.” 

“Yeah,” Jason said, as he finally looked down in his bowl and kicked around the pieces with his spoon. Logically, he _knew_ Lucky Charms had marshmallows in the cereal, but he wasn’t expecting the marshmallows to be so… dense? He was expecting the normal marshmallows bought in bags at the store. Not hard colored things. 

“I’ve never had Lucky Charms,” he admitted, as he scooped up a spoon of the cereal part to taste. As it turned out, it wasn’t that great. The sweetness was ridiculous, and the actual cereal part wasn’t nearly as good as like Cheerios or Captain Crunch or whatever his mom usually bought. 

“Oh yeah?” Dick asked, “What do you think of it?” 

“I don’t know.” So far he wasn’t a huge fan. 

“The marshmallows are the best part,” Dick said, as he took a huge bite of his own cereal, all the pieces all mixed together.

Jason picked out a marshmallow and ate it by itself. It was kind of gross, too, if Jason was honest. “It’s weird,” he said, as he ate another, “it has a weird crunch.” 

“Yeah, it’s great.” 

“The cereal part is gross.” Overall, Jason wasn’t a huge fan. 

“Yeah, a bit,” Dick admitted, “What kind of cereal do you like?”

With a shrug, Jason ate another bite of the cereal, letting the pieces mix up. “Cheerios I guess. The honey ones.” 

“Ooh, yeah,” Dick said, nodding, “I like frosted Cheerios, too. Or those apple cinnamon ones, ever had those?”

Jason shook his head. That did sound good, though. 

Alfred walked in while Jason kept working at his cereal, with a couple glasses of orange juice and two bowls of fruit. He set one down in front of Jason and asked, “Would you like some oatmeal, lad? If you want something sweet I might be able to add a spoonful of brown sugar on top.” 

“That’s okay Alfred,” Jason said, “I’ll just eat the cereal.” It wasn’t _that_ bad. 

He certainly wouldn’t choose it on purpose again. 

“Very well,” Alfred said, “let me know if you change your mind later. I will be preparing Bruce a bowl, it is no trouble to fix you one as well.” 

“Okay,” he said, nodding. He picked up his orange juice and took a sip, so Alfred smiled at him and went back to the kitchen. Probably to finish up Bruce’s breakfast, or whatever.

“Where is Bruce?” he asked, after a second had passed. It was super weird that he wasn’t there.

Usually he was already in the kitchen or dining room when Jason came down for breakfast, when Jason came down in time. And the rare couple times he wasn’t, he was never far behind Jason. 

So where was he? Jason _knew_ he was home. He and Dick got back at the same time the night before, around 2am.

Which was another thing. Why the fuck did they go out and come back together?

If Bruce really _was_ going on ‘dates,’ why would he bring Dick? His supposed son-slash-brother? Who he supposedly never fucked?

Made no fucking sense. 

Unless they went on some sort of double date…?

But _son._ Who would want to go on a double date with their dad?

“Probably still asleep,” Dick said, through a mouthful of cereal. 

“But he never sleeps through breakfast.” _Ever._

Jason kind of wished he would, sometimes. 

“Yeah, but he never gets enough sleep so I told him last night to skip breakfast, cause I’d be here to eat with you.” 

So… Bruce purposely woke up just to eat with Jason?

Bruce thought Jason needed someone to eat with him?

He fucking _didn’t._ He _liked_ being left alone. 

And why the fuck was Dick out with Bruce, anyway? 

With a slight scowl, Jason asked, “Where did you go last night?” 

Dick looked up from his cereal and said, “Out with a friend, why?” 

“With Bruce?” 

“No, I wasn’t with Bruce,” he said, looking a little confused.

“What?” Dick asked, when all Jason did was stare blankly at him. 

Did he think Jason was _stupid?_ Why did they both lie to him?

They were both good actors, too, weren’t they?

“You and Bruce left at the same time and got back at the same time.” 

“We didn’t, actually,” Dick said, so fucking casually Jason would have totally bought it, had he not already known at least Bruce was a magnificent actor, “I got back before him and watched an episode of Law & Order, then when he got home he told me to go to bed so I did.”

Yeah _right,_ Jason thought. That was awfully convenient.

“Ask Alfred,” Dick exclaimed, “he saw me.” 

Jason faltered, for a moment. Alfred probably would lie to him, too, if they were all lying. 

But it _was_ possible…

“You aren’t lying?” Jason asked, his eyes narrowed, almost daring Dick.

“No,” Dick exclaimed, “I saw my friend Barbara and got home before Bruce.” 

“Oh.” 

Bruce had never actually told him who he was with or anything. Always just _dates._

Then again, he was a playboy… did _Bruce_ even know the names of his dates? Wouldn’t surprise Jason if he didn’t…

Besides, he wasn’t sure what he’d do if they were all lying to him. 

Nothing, probably. 

It wasn’t like he _could_ do anything. Even if they weren’t the type to flip their shit on him, like they kept claiming. If they _were_ the type, he’d just earn himself a beating.

So far nothing bad had happened, and it really made absolutely no sense for Bruce to be playing the long game with him, trying to lure him in or whatever. Gain his trust and shit. 

Silence lapsed while Jason finished off the rest of his cereal. Once he started slurping up the rest of the milk, Dick asked, “You got any plans for today?” 

Jason shrugged, and turned his attention to the bowl of fruit. Did he ever have plans? He didn’t really have a purpose, anymore… if he _really_ wasn’t working anymore.

“What do you normally do all day?” Dick asked. 

All Jason did was shrug again. The fruit was a few different berries mixed together, and very delicious. Way better than the Lucky Charms, and probably was good on top of the oatmeal

“Hm,” Dick hummed, “We should find something to do. Bruce doesn’t really want you out and about in Gotham.” 

“Yeah.”

 _Jason_ didn’t want out and about in Gotham, either. Just in case. He did like the mob not being able to get him. And he also didn’t want them spending more money on him for no damn reason.

Although he definitely didn’t have a problem with reading in his room all day. He wasn’t going to be _bored._

Especially not now that he had a phone. He’d find plenty to entertain himself, he was sure. 

“You play any video games?” 

Jason shook his head. He’d been allowed to play a couple times with the other boys, but usually just so they could laugh at how bad he was.

“Then let me introduce you to Pokemon.” 

“I know what Pokemon is,” Jason drawled, “The other boys watched that all the time.” They didn’t have the Pokemon games, though. Apparently the Xbox or whatever it was they had wasn’t the right system for Pokemon.

“I meant the game,” Dick said, between eating his entire little bowl of fruit in two huge bites, “We have both Sword and Shield for the switch, even Bruce liked it.” 

“How?” Jason snapped, “He doesn’t even know what Pokemon are.” Did he not pay attention? 

“Sure he does,” Dick said, laughing a little, “He played all the way through Sword.”

“He called Pikachu ‘pigachu,’” Jason said flatly. Bruce must just be an idiot, then.

Or purposely annoying. 

Dick must have agreed with the later, because he rolled his eyes and said, “He’s full of shit.” 

Jason grinned, and ate the last bite of his berries. But then he scowled. Because Bruce _was_ just being annoying just to distract him. Like an asshole. Jason was _not_ a baby that needed to be distracted from needles. 

Though he had to admit, it had helped… 

“Come on,” Dick said, as soon as Jason set his spoon down into the bowl. He picked up Jason’s dishes and stacked them into his own, and stopped in through the kitchen to put them all in the sink on their way to wherever the Pokemon games were.

Apparently the game system he’d messed with on his first day in the manor was the ‘switch.’ Because Dick pulled the device right out of the dock it was in, clicked it on, and plopped down on the couch, motioning for Jason to come sit next to him. 

“Let’s get you a profile set up, so you can play on your own save files,” he said, as Jason took a seat next to him. 

Jason watched as Dick flipped passed his and Bruce’s ‘profiles’ and went to create a new one. Once on the set up screen, however, he passed the device to Jason and told him to do everything the way he wanted. 

Which was pretty neat. He was able to pick his own picture, out of a bunch of different ones, and ended up choosing some cool Easter Island head-looking guy wearing a red hat. 

“We have that game too,” Dick said, once Jason had chosen it.

“It’s a game?” Would he get to be the cool head guy? It had a mustache and sunglasses, too. 

“Yeah, Mario Odyssey, in one of the levels those things walk around and you get to take them over and play as them for a minute.” 

Jason nodded. That would be pretty cool to do, too. Maybe he’d have to try it later. 

“Okay,” Dick said, once Jason had his profile set up, and walked Jason through starting up the Pokemon games. He ended up picking ‘Shield,’ and naming his character “Jason,” even though he had considered naming it something actually cool. But Dick was sitting right there and he didn’t want him laughing at him. 

Overall the game was actually not terrible. He got to pick between three different Pokemon to start, and picked the little fire bunny.

“That’s pretty funny,” Dick had said, when he first picked _Scorbunny,_ “Bruce picked Grookey and I picked Sobble.” 

“Well you both picked stupid,” Jason said. The bunny gave his character a fist bump when Jason picked him, so he definitely made the right choice. It also kicked the ass of the green monkey thing his ‘friend’ picked in the game, which was the Grookey Bruce apparently picked. 

Dick settled down next to Jason, leaning over Jason’s shoulder a bit, but not really crowding him much either, and watched mostly quietly while Jason worked through the first half hour or so of the game. 

It was pretty peaceful. Way better than the interrogation Dick had subjected Jason to the day before. _Way_ better.

But while Jason was working on catching a few new Pokemon, at Dick’s suggestion, Dick shifted and looked away from the screen and up at Jason. “You have cereal in your hair,” he said after a second. 

Jason rolled his eyes and said, “I do not,” as he picked a pokeball, to catch the little lighting corgi named _Yamper_ he’d found. 

“You do so, I swear,” Dick shot back. 

His pokeball shook twice, but the stupid dog broke free. Jason ran a hand through his hair, trying to knock the supposed cereal out of his hair.

How the fuck did he get cereal in his hair in the first place? 

“Still there,” Dick said, and Jason could _swear_ he was mocking him. 

“Then get it out, you asshole,” Jason snapped, as he made his bunny, named Scorch, tackle the stupid dog again so he could attempt to catch it when it was weaker. “You probably put it there.” Jason sure as fuck didn’t put cereal in his own hair. 

“Why would I put cereal in your hair?” Dick asked, _still_ not getting it out. 

“Why would _I_ put cereal in _my_ hair?” he snapped back.

Dick _still_ didn’t pick the cereal out, so Jason shook his head violently.

“Nope, still there.”

Jason scowled. “You gonna get it out or just stare at it?”

“Can I?” Dick asked.

“Why couldn’t you?” he asked, as he threw another pokeball and tried not to hold his breath for the damn thing to actually get caught. 

Dick shifted, moving a little further away from Jason, and said, “I just didn’t want to touch you without permission.” 

“Oh my God,” Jason groaned, rolling his eyes _hard,_ “it’s just my hair. I don’t _care._ ” Why the _fuck_ would he get upset about that? And who asked ‘hey can I touch your hair’ anyway?

Literally no one. 

“So I can touch your hair?”

“ _Yes,_ Dick,” Jason snapped. But his pokeball did catch the dog, so he refocused on picking a name for him. Maybe ‘Bolt,’ like from the movie. 

“Okay,” Dick said, and he _finally_ reached up and pulled something from the back of Jason’s hair. Whatever it was was really stuck in there, because it pulled Jason’s hair a little as Dick got it out. “It’s a marshmallow,” he said, showing Jason it once it was free.

“How the fuck did a marshmallow get in my hair?”

Dick shrugged, and leaned forward to put the marshmallow on the coffee table, while Jason moved on in his game. His stupid little ‘friend’ named Hop led him to some house with an old lady.

“It’s called consent,” Dick said, after a moment, during which time Jason had _not_ been paying attention to a word the people on his game were saying. He should have maybe been paying more attention, because he had no idea what Dick was talking about.

“What is?” he asked, as he actually looked down and read. But they were talking about the Pokédex, so he still didn’t get it.

“Getting permission,” Dick explained, “it’s called ‘consent.’”

“I know its _definition,”_ Jason said, rolling his eyes. That was not what he was asking. 

“Okay, good,” Dick said, “Was just making sure.”

He was making sure Jason knew the _definition?_ “What does it have to do with anything?” he demanded. His game people were talking about different things Pokemon could do, and nothing to do with whatever the fuck Dick was talking about.

“Because, people should always get your consent, even if it’s just a hair ruffle. Consent is important. That’s why I asked if I could touch your hair.” 

Oh. He was still harping on _that._ Jason rolled his eyes even harder. 

“And you can tell me or Bruce or Alfred if someone ever _doesn’t_ get your consent, okay?”

“If they touch my hair,” Jason asked sardonically. Yes, he was going to do that. If the lady cutting his hair doesn’t ask for explicit permission to touch every single strand, he was going to demand her arrest.

Dick nodded seriously and said, “Yeah, or anything else that makes you uncomfortable. Bruce will make sure it stops. And, he’ll do everything he can to make sure it never happens in the first place.”

“Kay, great,” Jason mumbled, ready for Dick to just shut up. He wasn’t sure _exactly_ he was going on about, but if he was _really_ talking about sex, then Jason already knew Bruce wasn’t gonna let randos do shit to him. Bruce said it was _illegal_ and a _crime_ and seemed pretty serious about it, so obviously he wasn’t gonna let it happen.

And as long as he and Dick weren’t lying about what _their_ relationship was, Jason was maybe starting to probably buy it all, too. They were lying about _something,_ but he couldn’t think of a logical reason why Bruce would lie about what he wanted from Jason.

But, then if Dick was just talking about touching his _hair,_ to remove random pieces of cereal, then he was just an idiot. 

Then, as if to prove that he _was_ an idiot, Dick grinned and asked, “So, can I ruffle your hair?” and all Jason could do was groan.

“I don’t care if you touch my hair,” he said, when Dick honest to God waited for an answer, “You may touch my hair, so stop asking, you freak.” 

“I just want to make sure,” Dick said, as he reached up and _did_ ruffle Jason’s hair. A little roughly, Jason thought, but it wasn’t bad. “If you ever want me to stop, just say so.” 

“Okay,” he sighed, loudly, “now hush I gotta go join the gym challenge.” 

Dick smiled and said, “Let me go grab my Switch, and we can do some raids together.” 

“Some what?” 

“Keep playing through,” Dick said, as he hopped up, “it’ll explain them in a minute. I’ll be right back.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Jason mumbled. At least Dick had stopped making a big deal about his _hair._ Jason would rather play the game, too. 

It wasn’t a half bad game. He _was_ going to kick Leon’s ass, though, the guy who kept going on and on about how he was the ‘champion’ of the whole region. If the story didn’t lead down the path where Jason got to be the new champion, he was going to have _problems_ with the game developers. 

Dick wasn’t half bad, either, he had to admit. Maybe a little weird, but so far he’d been super nice. He probably wouldn’t mind having him as a ‘foster brother,’ for however long he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello~~~~~~ it took four days to finally get this out. Mostly because my family likes to interrupt me when I'm trying to write. 😂
> 
> I'm supposedly doing a nano-style January for The Best Things (which will start when I get home this weekend, probably Monday-ish for when I start writing. We'll see. My goal is to write as much as I can and update as I do. This fic won't update at all during that time, if I'm able to change my mind over to it. We'll see. My headspace has been jumping between this fic here and an original novel idea. lmao. But I'll spend the weekend rereading what I've written for the best things and hopefully that brings me back to it. 
> 
> I hope everyone had a good couple weeks. Happy new year!!! Thanks for reading and commenting and such. ❤️


	25. Chapter 25

Dick and Jason kept playing Pokemon for an hour, running around and fighting lots of really big, really strong Pokémon so Jason could collect up a lot of awesome looking Pokémon.

It was almost 11 before Bruce appeared in the doorway, looking more asleep than Jason had ever seen him. 

“Morning, Bruce, sleep well?” Dick asked, briefly looking up to smile at Bruce before he went back to searching for another Pokémon for them to fight together. They were searching _dens,_ looking for them, but since Jason was a ‘noob’ his game didn’t have strong Pokémon yet. So Dick had to find them all. 

“Hrn,” Bruce grunted, as he stepped further in and stood behind the couch, where Dick and Jason were playing. 

Jason’s shoulders stiffened a little, when Bruce leaned over and looked down at Jason’s screen, scrutinizing how Jason was picking out which Pokémon he wanted to use on the raid. It was a _fire_ type Pokémon they were fighting, so he wanted a _water_ Pokémon. Obviously. Dick only had to remind him of that like four times already. 

“Pokemon?” Bruce finally asked, as he leaned back, further away from Jason. 

“Yeah,” Jason exhaled, resisting the urge to reposition on the couch so he was facing Bruce, instead of Dick. But that would be awkward and obvious and he didn’t want Bruce getting pissed over something stupid. 

“Yep, we’re doing raids,” Dick said, as chipper as ever, “Wanna join us?”

“Hnn,” Bruce hummed, as he rubbed at his face with one of his hands, “No. I have some work to get done today.” 

“Sounds awful,” Dick said, grinning a little, “If me and Jason find a shiny, you’re gonna regret it.” 

Bruce rolled his eyes, so Jason asked, “What’s a shiny?” He’d never heard of such a thing.

“Pokemon colored wrong,” Bruce said, before Dick could answer, “that’s all they are. They’re the wrong color, and apparently people grind for hundreds of hours to get just _one._ ” 

“Yeah, cause they’re awesome,” Dick said, as he finally started their next battle. 

Jason turned more on the couch, putting his back completely against the armrest, just so he could give Bruce a critical look. 

Because _pigachu._

Bruce was a gigantic liar. 

“What?” Bruce asked, when he saw Jason staring.

“ _Pigachu,”_ he said accusingly, “Dick said you’ve played all the way through Pokemon and was just pretending to be an idiot.” 

In response, Bruce did one of his stupid not-smiles, his eyes crinkling with it as if he was grinning wide. 

Dick laughed and said, “No, he _is_ an idiot. He just knows what Pokemon are really called.” 

“Yeah,” Bruce said, shrugging, “It’s a neat little game. Are you enjoying it?” 

“It’s all right,” Jason mumbled, pulling his knees up closer so he could rest the _Switch_ on them. 

Nodding, Bruce leaned over Dick’s shoulder and started watching their battle that way and nearly hummed, “I will say, that Hop character was infuriating.” 

“Right?” Jason exclaimed. He’d already told Dick as much. _Twice._ “I’ve beaten him like three times and he keeps saying he’s gonna be champion. How can he be champion if I keep beating him. So far, _I’m_ the undefeated one, not him! He sucks!”

When Jason looked back up, he saw Bruce staring right at him, a different sort of smile on his face. It wasn’t his _smiles are illegal_ thing. It was… softer. Happier? And.

And Jason wasn’t sure how to take it. 

It made his stomach churn, a little. But not because… not because it was a _creepy_ smile. When _men_ smiled at him… when. Clients smiled at him, it was so much more… admiring. Lustful? Their eyes always boring into him, looking longingly at him. But Bruce… 

Bruce looked fond. 

_Fond._

What the _fuck_ was happening?

Jason sank further down into his hoody, letting the collar come up to just below his nose as he focused back on his game.

“All right,” Bruce said, reaching out and ruffling Dick’s hair, roughly enough Dick pulled his head away and whined, “Alfred is heating up some breakfast for me, I’m going to go eat that before he gets huffy about it going cold again.” 

“Okay,” Dick said, brushing his hair back into place with his fingers, “Come back later and play with us. We can transfer your save file to the lite or something, we’ll figure it out.” 

“No, I’m going to do my work,” Bruce said, as he stood up and started to leave the room, “Someone has to pay the bills around here.”

“Oh _please,”_ Dick said, rolling his eyes dramatically, “Like you have to _work_ to pay the bills.” 

“You boys have fun,” Bruce said, completely ignoring Dick with that same _fond_ smile on his face, “I’ll see you at lunch.” 

“Bye,” Jason mumbled. Once Bruce was down the hall, Jason sat up and crossed his legs, letting the hoody’s collar fall back down around his neck. “Is this Bruce’s?” he asked, holding the Switch up a little while he picked his next attack. 

“Sort of,” Dick said, shrugging, “It’s not his in name or anything, but I have my own and until you got here he was the only one who ever played it. Which was very, _very_ rarely. He’s not gonna miss it if you play it.”

“Oh,” Jason said, as he threw a pokeball to catch the cool centipede thing they’d caught, “Then why does he have it, if he never plays it?”

“So I can make him play with me,” Dick said, smiling mischievously, “It’s fun to kick his ass on Mario Kart and stuff.” 

“He lets you? Just to lose?” 

Dick’s grin widened. “Yeah of course. He secretly loves it.”

“Huh,” Jason said, nodding absently. He supposed that made sense…

It was just more proof, though. That Dick was his son. 

Because that was something parents did. When Jason was little, his mom would play board games with him whenever he asked, and she wasn’t busy. Had they been able to afford video games, she probably would have played those with him, too. Because she liked spending time with him. Sometimes his dad even played with him, if he was in a good enough mood. 

“You and me can play online together, when I go back to New York,” Dick said, back to his hunt for another good Pokémon for them to fight.

“That’s cool,” Jason replied.

Dick looked up at him and said, “If you want.”

“Sure,” he said, with a shrug. He wasn’t sure how much he was going to play, but it was pretty neat. Being able to play a game with someone in a completely different _state._

And pretty nice of Dick. To want to spend more time with Jason. When he had all his friends to entertain him, instead.

“And Bruce will play with you, too,” Dick added, “if you want him to. But you’ll have to ask him, because he always seems to think he’s being annoying when _he_ suggests spending time together.” 

Jason swallowed, and pretended to be _very_ focused on picking a Pokémon to fight an _ice_ guy. He… he didn’t know if he was gonna do that.

It would be good, to ‘spend time’ with Bruce. 

Since that was what Bruce wanted from him. 

A pretend son. 

Or. He didn’t know. Someone to be like Dick?

“You can play it by yourself, too. There’s a bunch of games on there, feel free to play any of them.” 

“Okay,” Jason agreed. 

He’d have to see. 

It was cool, having _another_ thing to occupy his time. 

\- - - 

The rest of the day passed in relative peace. Bruce did, indeed, join them for lunch, but he and Dick spent the entire meal talking back and forth, both letting Jason eat his own pasta in silence. Then, once Bruce was done eating, he excused himself again to ‘get more work done.’ 

Jason liked it when Bruce had ‘work’ to do.

Dick very did not. 

But Dick still came up with things for he and Jason to do all afternoon, somehow. He showed Jason the manor’s gym, and showed off for a while, doing all sorts of cool flips and shit all over the place. Because _circus._

He even offered to teach Jason how to do a front flip, which sounded neat but also kind of exhausting. 

Jason did do one hand stand, just to show Dick he knew _how._ But… it ended in Jason falling over. Because his stupid hoody slid down his body and bunched up around his head, blocking his vision and trapping his arms. 

He fell hard, right onto his back. They were on mats, of course, so it didn’t _hurt._ Much. But it was enough to make Jason just lay there for a minute, cursing his own stupidity for trying such a thing in a gigantic hoody.

“Sorry,” Dick said, once Jason pulled the hoody back down, off of his face. He’d stepped over and was leaning over Jason, looking super fucking concerned, “I was afraid grabbing your legs would freak you out.” 

Right. Dick had just let him fall, then. 

“Whatever,” he mumbled, as he rolled away from Dick and onto his stomach to get up. 

He didn’t care that Dick didn’t catch him. But it woulda been nice… 

Would he have freaked out?

He— 

_Shit._ Maybe. 

Dick took another step back and asked, “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” he huffed. He brushed his hoody off, even though there was nothing _to_ brush off, since the manor was somehow kept dust free. Alfred was a witch, probably, with how clean he kept everything. “Can we do something else?” He didn’t want to take the hoody off, and if they were gonna keep doing gymnastics he’d have to. 

That or just tell Dick to catch him… 

No. 

And otherwise he’d probably really hurt himself. And he didn’t want to hurt himself. Being stuck in a cast was _not_ on his bucket list, no way. 

“Sure,” Dick said brightly, as he honest to God did a cartwheel over to where he’d put his phone down at, “What’d you have in mind?” 

_Read,_ he thought, as he shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. Dick was leaving tomorrow. He didn’t have to be a… jerk. And tell Dick to fuck off. 

Or. Rather. He _shouldn’t_ be a dick and tell Dick to fuck off. When Dick had specifically come out to meet Jason. 

Dick chuckled and motioned with his head for Jason to follow him out the room. “You know, you’re just like Bruce.” 

“Am not,” Jason grumbled, scowling at the back of Dick’s head. 

Jason was _nothing_ like Bruce. 

_Bruce_ was a pedophile that… 

Or. 

Well the jury was still out on that one, but Bruce _did buy_ Jason. Like Jason were an object that _could_ be bought. 

There was no way in hell Jason would ever do something like that. Ever. 

If he ever had the opportunity, he’d save kids from everything. It kind of sucked being a whore for the mob. Or for anyone. And by being a customer, Bruce was creating the demand, and where there was demand, the mob would rise up to meet it. 

So yeah. Even _if_ Bruce _really_ didn’t want anything from Jason, he _still_ participated in the transaction. 

Dick looked back at Jason and huffed another laugh. “Can I ruffle your hair?” he asked, grinning wide as he slowed down so Jason could catch up.

Jason blinked, then scowled harder. “Stop asking me that,” he said, “I already said I didn’t care.” It was his _hair._

At least that was _all_ he wanted. All any of them had wanted, thus far… 

“Okay,” Dick said, as he did ruffle Jason’s hair, pushing around his curls until all of them were scattered the wrong way. 

Maybe Jason shouldn’t have let him, he thought, as he shook his head and made the hair all fall back to its natural position. 

“And yes, you are just like Bruce. He likes his alone time, too. And your scowl rivals his. I bet you glare just as well.” 

Bruce didn’t glare. Jason had yet to see Bruce glare. 

Why the fuck would Bruce glare? 

Dick turned to the left, when they came to a fork in the hall, and Jason actually recognized where they were, finally. Since the gym they were in was apparently an old ballroom, and Jason hadn’t been over to that part of the manor yet.

Because the manor was fucking gigantic. 

But they were in the hall where the main family living area was, including the library. 

Which is where Dick led them. 

“Can I read with you?” Dick asked, “I promise to be quiet and actually let you read.” 

“Uh,” Jason stammered, “Sure?” Was he for real? What would he get out of reading _with_ Jason? 

Just… being with him? Why—

“Awesome. I’m going to reread Harry Potter,” Dick said, as he bounced over to where those books where. Apparently… excited? To just _read_ with Jason?

What even _was_ Dick Grayson? 

Jason picked up his kindle from where he’d set it to charge, on one of the tables, and settled down into an armchair to start reading. 

And that was what they did. For the rest of the afternoon. Without being bothered by anyone or bothering each other. 

It was actually quite peaceful. 

Jason thought he _definitely_ didn’t mind having Dick Grayson as a ‘foster brother.’ 

\- - - 

After dinner that night, Jason found himself sitting in the living room again, playing Pokemon. Dick had taught him how to get on the internet and do raids with random people all over the world, so that was what he was doing. It was pretty awesome. He could still fight the strong Pokémon, despite only having four badges himself, without having to bother Dick or Bruce and make them help him. 

He could definitely see himself finishing the game.

Bruce came and sat with him, after about half an hour. He’d asked permission, of course. Like he always fucking did, the weirdo, but Jason had just shrugged. 

It was _his_ living room, after all. Jason could have gone and hid in his room, probably. If he really didn’t want anyone to find him.

Would Bruce get mad if Jason stole his Switch and kept it in his room? Did it count in the _put it on your shelves_ rule? 

But Bruce had flipped on the news and was sitting in one of the armchairs, a foot up on an ottoman as he watched. Actually, Jason was pretty sure he was asleep. Because he was slouched down, his hands folded over his stomach with his eyes closed. 

Probably definitely asleep. Just like old guys _did_ in the evening. Jason’s dad used to fall asleep on the couch, after work each evening. And even Donny would do that, sometimes. Take a random nap in the living room, even with all the boys running around.

They knew better than to be loud and disrupt him, though. Jason knew how Donny or Dad would have reacted to being woken, so he kept his trap shut and let Bruce sleep in peace. 

That is, until Dick wandered in another half hour later, apparently completely unconcerned over whether he woke Bruce. 

“Hey Jay,” he said, almost _loudly._

Bruce didn’t jump, but Jason did see him twitch, slightly, in his peripheral. He opened his eyes and sat up. 

And. 

Did nothing else. Looked over at Dick and Jason then back at the TV he clearly hadn’t been watching.

“Hi,” Jason eventually said, when Dick just hovered behind him, grinning wide. What did he want now? They’d spent _all day_ together.

“I’m so glad you like that game,” Dick said, leaning over the couch to watch as Jason was exploring the grass on the road he’d been traveling. He’d gone back to the storyline, now that he had a lot of really cool, really strong Pokémon. 

He just shrugged. After he finished the game, he wasn’t sure if he’d keep going. But in the meantime, yeah. He was enjoying it. 

Especially then, when he kept picking fights with all the trainers he could find, and one-shotting their stupid pathetic Pokémon. 

“The place I volunteer at called and said they really need help tomorrow,” Dick said, after he’d watched Jason battle a couple people.

“You’re headed back, then?” Bruce asked, and somehow Jason had sort of forgotten Bruce was _there._

Jason didn’t jump at his voice at all. 

Nope. 

Okay a little, but he shifted in his seat, so maybe no one caught it. He wasn’t even sure _how_ he could forget.

“Yeah,” Dick said, smiling a little at Jason when he looked up, “it’ll be easier to go now than to try and get past the city during rush hour tomorrow.” 

“Okay,” Jason said, turning back toward his game. That was cool. Dick was gonna have to leave eventually, anyway. And the knowledge that _tomorrow_ he could spend most the day in his room again, just reading… 

Yeah. He was totally cool with Dick leaving. 

Even if he’d turned out to be not bad to hang out with. 

“I’ll text you,” Dick said, reaching over and ruffling Jason’s hair again. Jason was almost convinced Dick just liked making Jason’s curls flip all over the place, at that point. 

“Yeah, okay,” Jason said, exasperated, as he pulled his head away and tried to straighten his hair back, not even taking his eyes off his game the whole time. 

“What?” Dick asked. His voice was some cross between annoyed and defensive, so Jason looked up to see him in glaring match with Bruce.

Because. Apparently Bruce _did_ glare.

It was kind of a little scary looking… 

And he stood up, too. From his chair. 

“You literally got him the phone so I could text him,” Dick added.

“No, not that,” Bruce said, his voice more on the angry side than Jason had heard yet. 

“Then what?” Dick demanded. Bruce just cut his eyes over at Jason, then back at Dick, so Jason sank into the couch a little more. 

What had Jason done? 

He kind of wished he wasn’t right between them, too. So he could just slip out and escape, before they started fighting. 

Were they gonna start fighting? Did hitting Dick count as _not hurting_ him, in Bruce’s book? 

Bruce had said he didn’t hit Dick, too, right……? _Why was Bruce even mad?_

“Oh,” Dick said, a second later with a quiet little huff, “No. Bruce, Jason said I could ruffle his hair. He doesn’t mind.” 

That… 

Were they for real? That couldn’t be—

“Dick,” Bruce sighed, like he _still_ didn’t like the fact Dick had touched _Jason’s hair._

What the _fuck._

Why was this even a thing? 

“I did tell him that,” Jason said, defensively. Trying not to scowl at Bruce, but failing. Because seriously. What the fuck was this? Bruce wasn’t honestly gonna fight Dick over _touching Jason’s hair._

Was he?

“Yes,” Bruce said, “but—“

“But what?” Jason snapped, “Don’t like to share your toys?” What _else_ could be the explanation?

Jason doesn’t let Bruce touch him so no one was allowed to?

He wasn’t even _not letting_ Bruce touch him, so what the actual fuck? Bruce just hadn’t _tried_ yet. 

“Jason, you are _not—“_ Bruce started, but Jason cut him off.

“I _told_ him it’s fine. Why are you making a big deal out of it? It’s just my _hair.”_ And if Bruce were telling the damn truth and _didn’t_ want Jason that way, why the fuck did he care at all? 

“Yes. No,” Bruce said, furrowing his brow. Clearly confusing himself just as much as he was confusing Jason. 

Jason just scoffed, and sank down into his hoody more. Letting the collar of it come up around his chin. If he could curl up into it entirely without making Bruce mad, he would. 

Would Bruce get mad? Dick was still standing behind him, would Dick help him? 

“That’s not the point,” Bruce finally said, with a tired sigh.

“Then what _is_ the point?” Jason exclaimed, “You keep saying you don’t wanna fuck me, but then you get pissed off if someone else even puts a finger on me. Make up your damn mind.” 

Why _would_ Dick help him? Especially now? Jason had just managed to redirect Bruce’s anger on himself. If Jason were Dick, he’d probably be relieved… 

“Jay,” Dick said, softy as he tapped his hand against the cushion right next to Jason’s shoulder. Whatever else he was going to say got cut off by Bruce, though.

“What? Jason, no. My mind _is_ made up, and I will never change it. Okay? I did not bring you here to harm you.” 

All Jason did was roll his eyes, but Dick cleared his throat pointedly, and Jason was pretty sure he was yelling at Bruce with just a look. 

“I did not bring you here to… touch you. Sexually,” Bruce said, slowly and almost painfully, grimacing as he did. 

“Uh huh,” Jason said, as he clutched the Switch closer to him. He’d covered his crossed legs with the hoody, and kind of wanted to just curl up into it completely, but then he’d have to put down the Switch. And really he’d much rather get distracted in the game again, letting his rabbit Scorch kick the ass of all the pathetic trainers. 

Instead he was fighting his eyes, as they kept trying to fill with tears. And he didn’t even know _why._

He didn’t _care_ what Bruce wanted. He _didn’t._

Bruce sighed, again, and sat back down in his chair. After he ran a hand across his face, he said, “I don’t want Dick even ruffling your hair, because you aren’t capable of consenting.” 

“What? Do you have to consent _for me_ as my owner?” Jason asked, bitterly. Trying to embrace the bitter over the strong desire to cry. 

He was so sick of crying in front of Bruce. 

“I am _not,”_ Bruce started, but Jason cut him off again. He couldn’t listen to it. 

“You fucking _bought me,_ Bruce. And you won’t let me— you keep—“ he finally set the switch down and swiped angrily at his face with the sleeve of his hoody, “I don’t know what you _want._ You make _no sense.”_

 _Nothing_ made sense.

Bruce was pissed off and angry but he hadn’t, like, started fighting either of them. Dick acted like he’d argue with Bruce all day without being scared at all, and Dick was _way_ smaller than Bruce. 

And.

He kept not touching him. If he wanted it, he would have done it by now.

But Bruce kept _lying_ to him about stupid stuff. _All the time._ Even if he was keeping his word. Because he kept not touching him, and he didn’t even want Dick ruffling his hair, and he didn’t want him out in public where he could get kidnapped again and, and-

Worst of all, _Jason believed him._ And if he was fucking lying about all _that,_ too. He—he. 

He couldn’t _handle_ it. 

Jason wrapped his arms around his knees, and buried his face into them. Inside the hoody, because no one cared that he had it on, and hid in it. And he had to hide _somewhere._

The warmth radiating out from inside somehow made him start crying harder, as Dick started humming something behind him. His voice didn’t quite rumble the way Bruce’s did, but it was still deep and strong sounding. Jason focused on quieting himself, so he could hear was Dick was saying, and all it was was things like, “ _It’s okay, Jay. You’re all right._ ” 

_No he wasn’t._

“Jason,” Bruce said, very softly. His voice was coming from right in front of Jason, so he peeked out of his hoody to look at how he had knelt down in front of Jason, and was just sitting there. Looking super fucking _concerned_ and not angry at all. “Jay,” he repeated,” buddy. Have I hurt you yet?”

“No,” Jason said thickly, shaking his head a little. 

“And I _promise_ I never will.” 

“Then,” Jason started, hating so much his voice squeaked with the word, “Then why get _mad—“_ but he couldn’t finish. He couldn’t finish because his stupid brain wanted to keep crying about this. 

About how it made _no fucking sense_ that Bruce didn’t want him, but then also didn’t want anyone else to so much as look at him without Bruce’s permission. Did he see Jason as property or _not?_

“Because,” Bruce said, but paused. He sat back, on the heels of his feet and looked like he was _really_ thinking about it. Trying to come up with the exact right words to convince Jason of _whatever._

It just made Jason’s stomach roll. 

“You are my foster son,” Bruce said finally, nodding seemingly to himself, “and as your foster parent, it is my job to protect you.”

“Yeah, but from Dick?” 

“From anything,” Bruce said, nodding more definitively, “From everything that causes you pain or makes you uncomfortable or upset or anything like that.” 

“Dick ruffling my hair doesn’t,” he croaked, as he scrubbed his face clean with his sleeve. Dick ruffling his hair didn’t make him cry. _Bruce_ did. 

Maybe _Bruce_ could go away forever, then. 

Bruce nodded again, and said, “Okay. That’s good. I’m glad. But if it ever _does—“_

 _“_ Why is this such a big fucking deal?” Jason whined, pressing his hands into his eyes because they wanted to start up _again. “_ You guys are _nuts.”_

He just wished they’d _stop._ Stop making a big deal out of stupid shit. He didn’t know how to take any of it and he was so sick of it. So _sick_ of crying. 

“Because,” Bruce said again, before he sighed, almost angrily. It made Jason tense. 

He wanted to go to his room. He wanted to hide somewhere far, far away, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t because there was no place to hide, anywhere. Ever. He was trapped with a person who couldn’t make up his mind what he fucking _wanted._ And made no damn sense, _ever._

But Bruce pressed on, and explained, “Right now, you don’t believe ‘no’ is an acceptable answer.” 

An acceptable answer to _what?_ was all Jason could wonder. Because ‘no’ was perfectly fine sometimes. It just depended on what they were talking about…

“And because you don’t believe ‘no’ is an acceptable answer,” Bruce continued, “it means _none_ of your yeses are true yeses.” 

What kind of fucking stupid logic was that? Jason scowled hard, his gaze met with Bruce’s sad one, which just made Jason scowl harder. 

"If you don’t believe ‘no’ is an option,” Bruce said after another second, “it means you feel pressured or forced to say ‘yes,’ which means you are saying ‘yes’ under duress.” 

“I’m sorry, Jay,” Dick said, as he leaned back over the couch again, right next to Jason, “I shouldn’t have pushed it.” 

“You _didn’t,”_ Jason snapped, “I’ll tell you to fuck off if I want to.” He _would,_ too. 

It just hadn’t been worth it, yet. He really _didn’t_ mind Dick’s company. Or the hair ruffle. 

_Because it was just a fucking hair ruffle._

Had Dick wanted… wanted… Jason would have minded. He would have. And he would have protested, too. Maybe. 

“In this house,” Bruce said, his voice taking on a hard edge that made Jason snap his attention back to him, “you may _always_ say ‘no.’ To anything. It is always an option.” 

“Okay,” he agreed, nodding mutely. 

“For any reason,” Bruce reiterated.

Jason _got_ it. “I said okay.” He was pretty sure Bruce would regret making that rule, the second Jason _actually_ said no, but he _got it._

With a sigh, Bruce stood up and pat at the couch next to Jason as he said, “That’s all right. We’ll work on it.” 

Work on _what?_ Bruce didn’t even know what he was _saying._

 _“_ You _really_ want me to say no to shit?” he snapped, sitting up more so he could glare at Bruce.

Bruce sat back down in his chair and leveled Jason a serious look as he said, “Yes, Jason. If ‘ _no’_ is the answer you want to give, I want you to give it. When you do, it will be respected every time.” 

Right. “So, if,” Jason started, still glaring at Bruce. _Daring_ him to eat his words. “If you tell me to come down for dinner, I can say no?” 

“Yes,” Bruce said, after only a brief hesitation.

“Yeah _right,”_ he scoffed, “And you won’t be mad at me for _skipping meals?_ You said I’m not _allowed_ to skip meals.” There was no way Bruce was creating rules that contradicted each other. 

“I meant don’t skip food,” Bruce clarified, “You don’t have to sit down with me and eat, just make sure you _do_ eat enough food throughout the day. We can even let you keep stuff in your room, if that’s what you want. Crackers or granola or something.” 

“Okay, fine. What if Alfred tells me to set the table?” He’d asked Jason to set cups and forks and shit out a few times. He was supposed to _listen_ to Alfred and _be good_ for him. Telling him ‘no’ would be breaking that rule. 

“You can say no,” Bruce agreed. 

“And what if you ask me to sleep with—“ Jason started, but Bruce cut him off with a scowl.

“I will _never_ ask that.” 

“Fine,” Jason huffed, “but what if one of your ‘ _friends—‘“_

“Jason,” Bruce cut in, so harshly Jason kind of maybe flinched a little. Bruce closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before he continued much more calmly, “I will _never_ ask you to do that for me _or_ any of my ‘friends.’ Ever. But yes. You absolutely may say ‘no’ if someone asks you for that. In fact, I _want_ you to say no to that. By law, you are not old enough to consent to sex, therefore no adult _can_ ask you for it, legally. And if they do, I want to know, so I can turn them over to Gordon.” 

“You’d turn your own friends over to Gordon,” Jason said, rolling his eyes. Like he would believe that.

“Bruce doesn’t have friends,” Dick said, grinning cheekily when Bruce shot him another look. 

_Obviously_ Bruce had friends. Since he went out with them all the fucking time. And threw parties and shit.

He was probably friends with all the other rich dudes in Gotham. He was probably friends with a lot of Jason’s clients.

Former… clients… 

“If they’re pedophiles, yes, absolutely,” Bruce said seriously, “I would also stop considering them my friends. I don’t want to be friends with pedophiles.”

Jason hoped he never had to meet any of Bruce’s friends. He didn’t want to face his former clients, or even make Bruce face the fact that a _lot_ of his friends were ‘pedophiles.’ 

And make Bruce prove if he was telling the truth. And really cared about all that. Because why would Bruce side with some kid he barely knew over people who had been his friends since forever?

“Can,” Jason started, but paused as he looked down at his hands, balling the sleeves of his hoody up into them.“Um. Can I say no to talking about stuff?” 

“Yeah,” Dick said, at the same time Bruce said, “Yes, of course.” 

“Okay,” he exhaled, still not looking up from his balled up fists, “I don’t wanna talk anymore.” 

Jason chanced a peek up at Bruce, just to see Bruce smiling so fucking _big_ and bright and, and. _Happy._ Jason could feel his cheeks heat up, just a little. 

Bruce really got off on being told no, huh? 

_“_ I’m going to bed,” Jason mumbled, as he got up and grabbed the Switch off the couch next to him. Since no one protested as he rounded the couch, he figured they didn’t care about that, either. 

Which was good. Cause Jason actually wanted to play the game some more. In his room. Where no one would bother him. 

Dick was still standing behind the couch, so Jason paused next to him before he left the room, looking everywhere but at him and said, “Uh. Bye Dick. Thanks for the hoody an’ stuff.” 

_“_ Don’t mention it,” Dick said, grinning wide again, “I’ll see you next time, okay? Probably in a couple weeks, but I’ll text you in the meantime.” 

“Okay,” Jason agreed, nodding as he turned to finally leave. 

“Good night, lad,” Bruce said, just as Jason passed the threshold of the room. 

He turned, just enough to see Bruce still sitting there, not looking at all like he was mad Jason was walking off. 

In fact, he looked pretty damn happy about the whole thing. 

“Night,” Jason mumbled, finally walking away from the room and toward his own. 

And as he closed his bedroom door and curled up on his own couch to start playing his game some more, he finally felt himself relax a little more. 

Because. Bruce had been happy.

Happy… Jason told him to shut up. And then got up and left. 

What even _was_ Bruce? 

His… foster dad? 

Jason took a deep breath and held it, trying to force himself to refocus on his stupid game. He was tired of thinking about it. And crying about it. 

It was what it was, and there was no point in working himself up again. If Bruce were for real, then great. Jason would just have to wait and see… 

And maybe test him out a little, in the meantime. It would be better if he flipped out sooner, rather than later. 

Yeah. He could definitely do that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im back!!!!!! I love this story so much lol. Maybe that's why I just wrote over 5.5k words for a single chapter. 🤦🏼♀️. 
> 
> My goal is to start updating all my major WIPs. I've actually made some serious progress on the next chapters of a few of my longfics, but we'll see. THIS story just has my heart right now. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, you guys, and putting up with the January hiatus.


	26. Chapter 26

Jason woke to a text notification, like he was sure would become the norm. 

Stretching, he sat up on the couch and fished his phone out from where it’d gotten tangled up in the blankets to find, sure enough, a new text message from Bruce. 

_Breakfast is ready,_ it read. But nothing else. 

Not a _come downstairs,_ or even a lame reminder about how he _didn’t_ have to go downstairs. Because Bruce’s rules were meaningless, apparently. If he was allowed to say _no_ to everything. 

There was _no way_ that was gonna last long. Bruce was gonna regret it _so fast_ and change his mind, Jason was sure. 

But since he hadn’t revoked that rule yet, Jason clicked his phone screen off and rolled back over on the couch, pulling his blanket up over his head to sleep for another hour or so. It’d probably take a lot more than skipping breakfast to push Bruce over the edge. 

-

Jason woke again and hour and a half later, when the sun peeked through his curtains _just right_ to shine directly into his eyes. He checked his phone again, and saw there were no new texts from Bruce. So he must not have cared Jason didn’t eat breakfast, true to his word. With a shrug, Jason sat up fully and stretched out his cramped muscles. His pillow fell off the couch as he did, like it did _all the time._

 _“_ Stupid pillow,” he grumbled, as he got up and kicked his blanket off, letting it fall to the floor, too. If he slept in the bed he wouldn’t have that problem. “ _Stupid bed._ ”

After brushing his teeth and slipping his nice, clean Batman hoody on over his pajamas, Jason made his way downstairs, happy to find a completely empty kitchen. Cereal was calling his name, and he was glad to get to eat it _alone._

_Finally._

He liked Dick and all, but to _not_ have to deal with him was a nice change of pace. Or… return to pace. Whatever. 

Relaxed, Jason pulled out a bowl, spoon, and the glass of milk from the fridge. Jug? Was it a glass or a jug? All he knew was it was one of those _fancy_ containers of milk, unlabeled and glass. Alfred probably got it from a local farm, or something, it was that fancy. No Walmart for him, apparently. 

When he walked into the pantry, to choose between the gross cereals Bruce ate, Jason had to blink at the brand new container of cereal. It was identical to the others. The same plastic box, where the cereal had been dumped out, because apparently there was something _wrong_ with storing cereal in their original boxes. 

It probably messed with the aesthetic of Alfred’s pantry, actually. His pantry filled with clear containers filled with things, some stuff labeled, others not. 

Jason had to bite down on his lip, to keep from smiling. Because the _new_ cereal container had _Cheerios_ in it. _Honey Nut_ Cheerios. It was a little creepy, actually, that he’d told Dick he liked cheerios the day before, and now it was in the pantry. But he wasn’t gonna _not_ eat them. 

Cheerios were _way_ better than frosted shredded wheat. 

_Way._

He climbed up on one of the island stools, and kicked his feet as he ate his bowl of cheerios. It’d been _forever_ since he had the real kind. Donny always got them some knock off version, which came in a giant bag and tasted like sawdust. His mom couldn’t always afford to get the name brand cereal, but she tried her best, and Jason always appreciated it. 

Would Alfred get him Captain Crunch, if he asked? The peanut butter kind was his mom’s favorite cereal. That and Fruity Pebbles. Would Alfred get _Fruity Pebbles?_

Maybe he could ask, he thought, as he poured himself a second bowl and splashed some more milk on top of it. He’d already slurped up the rest from his first bowl. Alfred said he wanted Jason to tell him his _preferences._ Maybe he’d care about cereal preferences? 

Or maybe he’d just say something like ‘cereal is not real food’ and tell Jason to attend _actual_ breakfast. 

It could honestly go either way. 

Once Jason finished off his second bowl, and convinced himself eating _three_ bowls was too much, he put his dirty dishes in the sink, and put the cereal back where it belonged. He could always have more cheerios in the morning, probably. If Alfred really wanted him to have things he _liked,_ then _maybe_ he could have cheerios whenever he wanted _forever._

Or. Until whenever _this_ all ended. 

Jason took to roaming the manor, some. He wasn’t sure where Bruce or Alfred were, but he _did_ hear a TV blaring from the main living room, down the hall. 

“… _third ring discovered in Gotham. The FBI arrived this morning, after Batman brought it to the GCPD’s attention…, ”_ the TV was saying, “ _Commissioner Gordon will be having a press conference at the top of the hour.”_

Pulling his hoody up, Jason wandered closer to the door, and poked his head in. Just enough that he could see what the dude on TV was even talking about. 

Inside, he saw Bruce laying on one of the couches, paying on his iPad. He also had his foot propped up on a pillow, with an ice pack over it. Did he hurt it again? If he did, that wasn’t fucking surprising considering he’d been acting like he _hadn’t_ hurt it ‘crashing his bike.’ Working _through_ the pain only made shit _worse._ Maybe he’d just hit the limit, and finally given in. 

Or he could have hurt it again. ‘Crashing his bike.’ 

“Hey Jason,” Bruce said, causing Jason to jump. 

Which was dumb. But he hadn't thought Bruce had noticed him, considering his back was mostly to him. 

Bruce twisted in his seat, and offered Jason a slight smile as he asked, “How are you today?” 

“Fine,” Jason said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. He hadn’t meant to get Bruce’s attention. He just wanted to know what the FBI and Batman were working on. 

_“…this happening right under our noses,”_ a lady was saying, in an interview with the news host, “ _Forty children, so far, Brian, many of whom were trafficked_ years _ago. The question we need to be asking: why did no one notice?”_

The headline at the bottom of the screen was “ _Third Child Sex Ring Busted by Batman.”_ Jason swallowed. Batman was still working on that?

 _“Yes, this is horrifying,”_ another person said, “ _how could the city fail these children so badly?”_

Because… because the city was in on it, Jason thought.

_Fail these children._

Why would Batman still be on the case? Why… did he care? Even if he found _all_ the the underage prostitutes in the city, it wasn’t like the mob wouldn’t just come up with new ones. 

The whole _system_ was rigged. There were lawyers and judges and cops and, and. DAs. All in the mob’s pockets. It wasn’t like finding all the kids was going to fix _anything._

It might fix stuff for those kids… maybe. _Jason_ wasn’t even sure if stuff had been fixed for him. There was no telling where the other kids would go, and if their ‘foster families’ would be any good. 

“Do you know how many houses the Falcones had?” Bruce asked, when all Jason could do was stare.

Slowly, Jason shook his head, still unable to tear his eyes away from the information scrolling on the screen. _Press conference at 10am,_ it read, _Commissioner Gordon and FBI Liaison Kevin Carrion to speak._

“Batman has found three so far,” Bruce said, as if Jason couldn’t fucking _read._

Jason looked over at Bruce, just long enough to scowl at him. And how he’d sat up a little more so he could face Jason better.

“None of the mob is talking,” Bruce added. 

“‘Course not,” Jason snorted. Why would anyone _talk?_

Bruce sighed, and smiled a little tersely as he said, “Snitches get stitches, huh?”

“ _No,”_ Jason said, with a roll of his eyes. Why did people always _say_ that. It was so far from true. “ _Snitches_ end up in the river, along with their whole _family.”_

“You’re safe here,” Bruce said, as if that even mattered.

Or had to keep being repeated. 

“Yeah, I know.” The mob probably had way bigger problems than _Jason,_ though. If so far Batman had taken _forty_ kids from them. 

Bruce just kept looking at him, expectantly. As if just by reminding him the mob couldn’t toss him in the river would suddenly make him _talk._

He couldn’t tell what he didn’t _know._

“I _really_ don’t know anything,” he said, scowling again, “You think they tell their whores much?” 

“Don’t call yourself that,” Bruce snapped, so harshly Jason flinched. And wiped the scowl right off his face, before Bruce could tell him to _drop the attitude, brat._

Why was Bruce even _mad?_ Jason hadn’t said anything he didn’t already _know._

“Jason,” Bruce said, pinching his nose and looking away. He took a deep breath, and said again, much more calmly, “Look. I didn’t mean to scare you. Just. Don’t call yourself a ‘whore,’ okay?” 

So was Bruce not mad? 

“But it’s what I _am,”_ Jason ventured. Bruce had like a dozen dictionaries in his library, Jason could even _show him._

“No,” Bruce started, but Jason cut him off.

“ _Fine._ Was.” Because Bruce swore up and down Jason was done with that work. So, then, technically, he should have said it in _past tense._

It was a little surprising Bruce didn’t seem to care, at all, that Jason was back talking, too. 

Then again, Bruce liked when Jason told him ‘no’ and gave him lip. He needed to stop forgetting that. 

“No, Jason,” Bruce said, firmly, but still not in a mean voice. It still made Jason a little antsy. But then Bruce said, “You were a victim of human traffick—“ 

“I don’t want to talk about this,” he cut in. He had heard enough of the stupid news people talking about _human trafficking_ and _sexual abuse_ and _victims._

And Jason didn’t want to _deal_ with it. 

It was _work._ A _job._ It sucked, and Jason hated it, and he didn’t want to do it, but that’s what work _was._ No one liked their job, and there were only so many things kids could do. When he was bigger, he would have more options, but that was pretty much his only option at his age. 

He certainly didn’t want to listen to Bruce go on about it. 

Jason didn’t want to talk about it, at all, actually. Ever.

Yeah. He never wanted to talk about it again. 

“Okay,” Bruce said, though, his whole face turning neutral as he turned back toward the TV, “Want to watch something else?” He picked up the remote, and held it out toward Jason, adding, “I can read the recap later.” 

Without his permission, Jason’s hand reached out, just a touch, before Jason took the hand back. _Did_ he want to watch TV? 

Bruce… Bruce said he didn’t have to talk about _stuff._ And… Bruce _wanted_ Jason to spend time with him. 

And. It wasn’t like watching TV with Bruce had ever been _bad._

With Bruce’s bum ankle, he wasn’t likely to do shit, anyway. Not that an _ankle_ could stop him, but still. 

“Uh, sure,” he finally said, shuffling the last few steps over to Bruce, to actually take the remote. He quickly moved to the exact opposite side of the living room, and curled up in an armchair to start flipping through the TV guide. 

There wasn’t much on. It was 10am on a Monday, of _course_ there wasn’t much on. 

But the History Channel was running something about the presidents around the turn of the 19th century, and it sounded interesting enough. He didn’t know hardly anything about all that stuff. History wasn’t a subject he’d had much opportunity to study. 

Bruce huffed a short laugh, so Jason looked over. But he wasn’t looking at Jason, or anything. Just smiling that same stupid _fond_ smile he’d had before, and was messing with his iPad again. 

Whatever.

Jason didn’t know what he was _fond_ about, and he didn’t care. Didn’t want to know. He pulled his hoody over his knees, and sank further down into the chair, letting his hoody eat him right up. Pretty much the only part of him not inside the hoody was his eyes. 

Which was _perfect._

Why even have a hoody if he wasn’t gonna be comfortable?

They sat in silence for a long while, Jason content to hear all about the time period known as the _Constitutional Era,_ and the major things each of the presidents did, and Bruce over there. Doing whatever the fuck it was he was doing. Playing on his iPad, or something. 

Finally, though, the credits starting rolling on Jason’s documentary, and it started talking about how up next was an entire miniseries, played start to finish…

It was entirely about John Adams. And was gonna last _the whole day._

Jason wasn’t sure he wanted to learn about one single dude _all day long._

Or even watch TV that long.

But Bruce cleared his throat and said, once Jason looked up, “Dick pointed out that you and I haven’t talked about school yet.” 

Shifting in his chair, Jason said, slowly, “Yeah…” Sure, Bruce had _said_ stuff like ‘when you go to school,’ but it always sounded like it would happen _later._ When Jason wasn’t with Bruce anymore. 

If that were even a possibility. He didn’t see any logical reason Bruce would let a kid he paid a shit ton of money for just… leave. To live with a foster family, of all things. 

“It doesn’t start until September,” Bruce said, “but it’s probably a good idea to start figuring it out now.” 

Jason nodded, as he started picking at his fingernails, inside his hoody pocket. Trying his best to stay calm looking. Calm and uninterested.

He _wanted_ school.

He wanted school _so bad._

But… but he wanted it to be Bruce’s idea. To send him to school. Because. Maybe then he wouldn’t take it away. If he knew Jason wanted it, he might take it away. 

Bruce pressed on, “There are quite a few options. Dick and I both went to Gotham Academy. It is a _great_ school, but it’s in Gotham proper, and the kids aren’t the best…” 

Jason cut his eyes over at Bruce, and mumbled, “That’s what Dick said.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to be in Gotham proper, either. Where the mob was.

Even if the school had amazing security, which Jason was sure it did. 

With a nod, Bruce said, “There’s also the local public school. It’s actually a great school, and I think you’d get an excellent education there.” 

“Okay,” Jason said, nodding a little. He could go to the public school. He’d _love_ to go to the public school. 

Just. School. 

If he went to school, he’d have a better shot at going to _college,_ and then getting _out_ of the hellhole known as Gotham. 

“But there’s also a few other private schools in Bristol you can choose. You should look at them, too, before you decide.”

“Will they…” Jason started, but trailed off. Obviously they _wouldn’t._

Bruce raised an eyebrow, then prodded, gently, “Will they?” 

“Uh,” he stammered. He should just say it, right? It wasn’t like Bruce didn’t _know._ “I dropped out in third grade. Are they gonna make me redo third grade?” Or would they even _take_ him? Private schools could refuse kids, he was pretty sure. It would be so easy for them to be like, ‘no, we don’t want some uneducated whore going here, he’ll ruin our GPA.’ 

“No,” Bruce said, and he furrowed his brow and seemed to think for a moment, “You should be in the eighth grade this year, so you’ll be placed in the eigth grade. Then you’ll have tutors to help you catch up. It depends on which school you choose, exactly how that works.”

“Oh.” So he was gonna have a special tutor and all the _other_ kids would know he was some uneducated whore who didn’t know anything past third grade. 

Well. They were probably gonna know that, anyway. People could probably just _tell,_ looking at him or something.

“Or, we could do some placement tests ourselves and homeschool you to catch up, first.” 

Jason sat up, a touch, and looked back over at Bruce. “Like, soon?” he asked, “Or did you mean in September?” 

He would be fine with homeschooling, if that’s what Bruce wanted, he thought, as he looked back at his knees, hidden by the bat symbol on his hoody. He’d especially be okay with it if Bruce did _real_ homeschooling with him. With, like, a curriculum.

But… going to real school… 

Real school would just be better. 

Bruce smiled, one of his rare actual big ones, as he clicked his tablet off and pulled his leg off the pillow, so he could turn around and sit up completely properly, with his feet on the ground and everything. “We can start today, if you want.” 

“Really?” Jason hated how excited his voice sounded, but Bruce just smiled wider, so _maybe_ he wasn’t gonna change his mind. 

Hopefully.

“Of course.” Bruce pushed himself to his feet, and limped his first couple of steps before he started putting more weight on his hurt ankle, then said, “Come on, the computer’s in my study.” 

After only the briefest hesitation, Jason got up and followed a barely limping Bruce down the hall, to his study. And refrained from telling him he was just making his ankle _worse,_ pulling shit like this. 

Jason had yet to be inside Bruce’s study. 

A man’s study, was like… the very last place Jason ever wanted to be in his entire life. Ever. Well, that and bedroom. But same idea, really. 

And Bruce’s study was exactly what he was picturing. A cozy room, or. Cozy as far as the manor went. The room was bigger than Jason’s kitchen and living room combined, when he was growing up. 

But still, it was a decent size with every wall covered in shelving. Books everywhere. A big desk on one side, with a large, leather seat behind it, and a leather _couch_ with two matching armchairs, all set around a coffee table on the other side. 

Pointing at the couch, Bruce said, “Take a seat,” as he rounded the desk and opened up one of the cabinets on the other side. 

Jason couldn’t see what Bruce was doing, digging around in the cabinet, but he sat down on the couch as ordered. Drumming his fingers against his knee, still clothed in his plaid pajamas he’d worn the night before, Jason kept looking around.

Right in the middle of the wall, between the desk and seating area, was a massive grandfather _clock._

That didn’t even _work._ Because it wasn’t ticking, and the arm wasn’t swinging, and the time wasn’t moving. 

It must have been worth a gazillion dollars, or something, and impossible to fix. Because if it wasn’t, why on earth would Bruce even _have_ it? 

“Okay,” Bruce said, as he stood up with a laptop and charger cord in his hands, “This is a couple years old, but it should work fine for its purpose.” 

He sat the computer down on the coffee table right in front of Jason, then went about pulling a surge bar out from behind the arm chair nearest the wall, so he could get the laptop’s cord to reach it. 

Then, he sat down.

On the couch.

Right next to Jason. 

And Jason focused _really hard_ on keeping his breathing steady, and okay. 

Because he was fine, and everything was _fine._ And if Bruce was gonna let him start school, he was fine with _anything._

Bruce completely ignored him, though, and leaned forward, over the laptop as he pressed down the power button until it finally popped on. 

He spent probably ten minutes mumbling at the computer, as he set it up. He named the profile _Jason,_ so apparently the computer was now _Jason’s._

Jason had a _computer._ And not just any computer. An _Apple_ laptop. He knew enough to know those were expensive. 

He kind of already _knew_ Bruce’s level of rich was ridiculous. But he’d never really thought through that it was, ‘I have a relatively new expensive laptop just laying around, have it,’ level of rich. 

Probably should have. If he was the kind of dude to drop 10k on some kid he didn’t know _just ‘cause._

Had Bruce really not been planning on renting a kid that day? Did he just _have_ 10k on him? For no reason?

“Okay,” Bruce finally said, once the computer had welcomed him, and he’d navigated to some school’s website, “So here are some placement tests you can take. We used these same ones on Dick, and I liked how well done they were.” 

“Sure,” Jason said, curling the cord of his hoody around his finger. Bruce was still sitting so close, but he didn’t seem to… notice? He was like six inches away, and didn’t even seem to care.

It’d been _years_ since a man sat so close to Jason and didn’t… 

“I’ll get these printed and you can take them,” Bruce said, snapping Jason’s attention back to him. Bruce still wasn’t looking at him, though. He had his head rested in his hand, and was still clicking away at the computer. 

He navigated to the elementary school section of the website, and started printing out each grade level. As he was clicking through the menu, toward the middle school section, the printer on one of the shelves, near the desk, came to life.

And it started spitting out _a lot_ of papers.

When Bruce started printing off the middle school tests, too… 

There was no way Jason was gonna pass _any_ of those. He was gonna fail them _all._

“This is an online school,” Bruce said, as he opened up the set of eight grade tests, and clicked print on the Reading Comprehension section of it, “it’s an option to you, as well, if you wanted to do online school.” 

All Jason could do was nod. Nodding made his hood tighten, a little, since the drawstring was still tangled up on his finger, but he didn’t care. 

Neither did Bruce, apparently, because he didn’t even look over as he said, “We can also do a physical curriculum, workbooks and such, to catch you up. You were doing workbooks at… Donny’s, right?” 

Jason looked down at the string in his hand, and had to physically drop it to prevent himself from putting it in his mouth.

Like a _toddler._

“Yeah. Kind of,” he said, setting his hands down on his knees to make them _behave._

Bruce looked over at him, and waited. Clearly wanting Jason to elaborate, so Jason added, mostly mumbling, “Uh. They were just, whatever Donny found. It wasn’t, like…. Structured or whatever.” 

Nodding, like it was exactly what he was expecting Jason to say, Bruce said, “That’s still better than nothing.” 

“I guess.” He was still gonna fail _all_ the test, though. He just knew it. Jason balled his sleeve up into his hand, and rested his face against it as he watched Bruce navigate to the test answers, and set them all to print, too. 

There was just… so much. And all just for determining _where he was._

But _finally,_ once he had everything printed off, Bruce got up and walked over to the printer. He pulled all the papers out, and started sorting through them, creating lots of little piles on his desk as he did. 

“Both options have pros and cons,” Bruce eventually said, when he was half way through the papers. 

“What?” Jason asked. He had to pull the cuff of his hoody out of his mouth, because he had started to chew on it. 

Because, again. Toddler. He was a toddler. That’s what his dad would say. Yell at him for ruining his clothes by chewing on the collar, or the cuff, or the drawstring, and accuse him of being a baby, unable to keep shit out of his mouth that didn’t belong there. 

Bruce didn’t seem to notice, though. And if he did, he didn’t care.

“Homeschool or online school,” Bruce said, still sorting away at the papers, “With online school you’ll have access to tutors who can help you. It will also have videos and instant feedback on your progress, for a lot of the stuff. And if you do workbooks, Alfred and I will help you and grade your work. We’ll also help you with online school, of course. If you want us to.” 

So… If he did online school, Bruce wouldn’t be the one grading him? Was that what Bruce was saying? He wouldn’t have to sit next to Bruce ever day, watching him go over his schoolwork?

“You can think on that, you don’t have to decide right now,” Bruce said, as he sorted out the last two pieces of paper into their piles. 

“Okay,” Jason agreed. He _would_ think about it. Maybe he could see how bad Bruce was, when he graded the placement tests, and saw how behind Jason _was._

Bruce straightened up the piles, and picked half of them up, shoving them into a folder that he slipped under his arm. 

“All right, lad,” he finally said, as he rummaged through his desk drawer until he pulled out a mechanical pencil. He held it out, as if handing it to Jason, even though Jason was on the opposite side of the room, but then he set it down next to the first pile of papers and continued, “Do as much as you can. I have each subject in grade level order. If it gets too difficult, you can stop there. You don’t have to attempt every grade.” 

Slowly, Jason rose to his feet and said, “Okay.” He shoved his hands into his pockets as he crossed the room, careful to walk way around Bruce as he approached the desk chair, where Bruce had pulled it out for him. 

“And don’t worry about getting things wrong. Don’t think of this as a test to pass or fail, just an assessment, to gauge where you are. Getting things wrong is perfectly okay.” 

Jason nodded again, as he slipped into the chair and stared down at the first pile of papers. It was the reading comprehension. He could do reading comprehension, right? He read novels all the time. And not _juvenile_ fiction. Real, _grown-up_ fiction. 

So he could do it, right?

Maybe not with Bruce standing over his shoulder.

“All right,” Bruce said, as he tapped the desk a couple times, “I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be in the den when you’re done, is that okay?” 

_Was that okay?_ “Yeah.” That was _great._

Because Jason finally let out a breath, when Bruce, sure enough, _left the room._ Then walked down the hall, his off-kilter footsteps fading out. Leaving Jason all alone to do the tests in solitude. 

“You can do this,” he whispered to himself, as he picked up the pencil and started reading the instructions on the first test. 

_Third Grade Reading Comprehension._ He could _totally_ do this. 

And… he could. Because the more Jason read, the more he realized how… _easy_ it was. 

It was so _simple._ And so was the fourth grade, and fifth, and sixth. 

In fact, he plowed right through _all_ the tests Bruce had printed off. He kind of wanted to try the high school tests, too. Maybe he could find those himself, on that website, and print them out… 

Or he could find the website on his phone, that night. And take them just on the phone. 

Because Bruce was expecting him to come find him once he was done. And he still had the math to do. 

Math was probably going to be a _lot_ harder, but that was okay. If he only had to catch up in math, and probably science and _maybe_ a little in history, that wasn’t nearly as bad as having to learn _everything_ and learn how to read better and all that crap. 

As Jason started going through the math tests, and didn’t encounter anything confusing until the _fifth grade,_ he had to hide his smile in his hand. 

Because. 

He really _was_ gonna go to school. And catch up. 

It was _possible._

And if he could catch up, and go to school for all of high school, well. 

College really was an option, wasn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) Jason smiling gives me life. 
> 
> Also, I'm not really in the mood to handle nitpicking on my writing, so please don't. I get its not meant to be rude and stuff, but I just can't handle it. I know there's probably inconsistencies, thats the problem with writing a book a chapter at a time over several months and publishing as I go. I'll eventually catch it all myself, while doing read throughs. (same goes for grammar mistakes and such.) 
> 
> But thank you so much for reading, I hope you guys are enjoying the story as much as I'm loving writing it. ❤️


	27. Chapter 27

Jason finished up the tests after spending about an hour working through them. He spent the majority of that time on the reading comprehension, since he didn’t get very far with the math.

The math ended up being a lot harder, the further in he got. On the sixth grade test, it started mixing in letters, which was easy enough to figure out when it wanted to know what ‘x’ meant, in the equation 4+X=10, but when it started mixing together addition, subtraction, and fractions into the same equation, he wasn’t sure how to figure it out. The seventh grade math was even _worse._

Like what on earth did _parenthesis_ mean in math? Or the tiny little numbers in the corner? And how was he supposed to figure out what X was when it was part of a fraction, that _also_ had subtraction _inside_ the fraction?

He used to be good at math, when he was little and in school. He wasn’t the fastest at the minute math worksheets, but he was usually among the fastest. Now, though, he couldn’t even figure out sixth grade math, and was hopelessly lost with the seventh grade stuff. He didn’t even attempt the eighth grade paper.

It wasn’t like he was _supposed_ to know the eighth grade stuff, anyway. That was the grade he was going to be starting.

And Bruce said he could quit when it got too hard, so that meant he was _expecting_ Jason to find it too hard, right? He wasn’t gonna get mad when he saw how little Jason knew, and how far behind he was?

Jason really hoped so, as he gathered up all his completed tests and pushed away from the desk. Bruce was expecting him to go find him, so that’s what he had to do. He was perfectly happy to get out of Bruce’s private study, too. It wasn’t quite so bad, with Bruce not in there with him. But he _really_ didn’t want to spend more time than necessary in there.

What if Bruce changed his mind? And came back? Jason had been in enough private studies to know what went on in them.

Only _some_ of it was actual work.

With a deep breath, Jason forced himself to his feet and made his way down to the den. He was _trying_ to believe Bruce.

He was.

And… Bruce preparing him for school _was_ a point in his favor… right?

Because. Who sent their plaything to _school?_ No one Jason had ever heard of.

Then Bruce _wanted_ him to say ‘no,’ when _Jason_ _wanted_ to say ‘no.’ To _anything._ He still highly doubted that was gonna last long, but no one who wanted control over someone would ever say that, right? Usually clients wanted complete and total control. But Bruce was just… giving Jason control.

Well. Jason wasn’t, like, free to leave and shit, but it wasn’t like he had anywhere to go.

With his dad in prison, and his mom dead, there was literally no one out there who cared about him. And if he tried to fend for himself, or go to the cops for help, he’d just end right back up in the mob’s hands.

Or, well. He’d end up dead, probably. The mob probably was freaking out over Batman busting all their houses.

But otherwise, outside of _where_ he was allowed to live, Bruce was letting him do… whatever. Whatever he wanted. Read all day, or play games. Eat food whenever. Hide in his room, or some random spot in the house. Wear whatever he wanted. Sleep whenever he wanted. Even bought him a phone, with access to the _internet._ And like. _Other people._

Bruce had given him control… of everything.

Jason had to pause, in his walk down the hall. Because his eyes were starting to blur, and he didn’t even know _why_. He swallowed hard, forcing down _everything_ , and took a second to just breathe.

The last thing he wanted was to cry in front of Bruce, for like the third day in a row, or whatever.

Take a deep breath in, he told himself, as he closed his eyes. There was literally nothing to be crying about. Nothing.

Hold the breath for five seconds. Then again, he hadn’t cried over _anything_ worthy of tears, lately. He just kept _crying._ For no damn reason!

And exhale, he thought, as he let the breath out slowly. He was _going to school._ He should be _happy._ Not standing in the hall, between the study and the den, crying like a little baby.

 _School_ was enough to snap him out of it.

After two more long breaths his vision had fully cleared, so he pushed forward into the doorway of the den.

Bruce was there, of course. Back sitting on the couch, with his foot elevated again. The TV was playing the news again, but this time the volume was much lower. Jason had to really focus to hear it, he’d turned it down so much. And as soon as Jason stepped into the room, Bruce hit _pause._

Because apparently the news could be _paused?_

“All done?” Bruce asked, as he turned toward Jason. He was also messing around on his iPad again, but flipped the cover over the screen, and set it down when Jason nodded.

Bruce held his hand out, so Jason finally stepped all the way into the room and passed over his stack of tests.

He wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself, when Bruce picked up the folder he’d put all the test answers in on the coffee table. Bruce was still sitting sideways on the couch, so it wasn’t like he could sit next to Bruce… even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. Seeing what Bruce was correcting could be helpful, but the longer he stayed within Bruce’s reach, the more his skin started to crawl. A little prickly sensation all down his back and arms.

Why did his skin _do_ that? It wasn’t like Bruce was doing _anything._ Squeezing his fingers inside his hoody pocket did nothing to help, except make his fingers hurt, so Jason took a breath and walked over to his armchair to sit down there, cross legged, content to just watch Bruce from across the room. Jason could look at everything he did wrong after Bruce was done, right? Probably.

Bruce kept nodding as he worked his way through the reading comprehension tests. He had a pen in his hand, but so far hadn’t made any marks on the paper.

“Hm,” Bruce hummed, as he flipped to a new page.

What did _hm_ mean?? Jason thought, as he drummed his fingers against his knee. He didn’t want to think too hard about everything. He was pretty sure he did well on the reading comprehension, so Bruce not making marks was expected. Right?

_But what did hm mean?_

It only took a couple more minutes for Bruce to flip through all the reading comprehension tests, still not making a single mark on any of the pages. So either Jason did really well, or really badly and Bruce hadn’t seen the point in marking everything wrong.

Then Bruce started the math, and finally the marks started. Even though Jason was expecting it, it still made his stomach churn. Bruce wasn’t frowning, but he knit his brow, as he worked his way through the pages, making more and more marks as he went.

Unlike with the reading comprehension, he wasn’t even looking at the answer sheet. Did he just _know_ the math that well? Could he look at the equation and just _know_ the answer in his head? That was… that was super impressive, if so. He didn’t know Bruce was smart like that. Jason had to work through math on paper, to figure it out. And even then he couldn’t figure it out, most the time…

Alfred did say Bruce was a ‘very intelligent’ man, though. Even though he also said in the same sentence Bruce was an idiot.

But Jason supposed it was possible to be both an idiot and intelligent. Like, book smart and people dumb. Or the other way around.

The more Bruce marked up his paper, the more nervous Jason felt. . Was he even gonna be able to catch up? Could he really do several years of math in just a couple months? Or was he gonna be behind for the rest of his life? No college would take him, if he was so far behind in math…

He pulled his knees up to his chest, and wrapped his arms around tightly. He needed to stay calm. Freaking out before Bruce even told him what the damage was was stupid.

Finally, Bruce hit the point where Jason gave up, and nodded his head at it. Jason assumed he must have been expecting that, because he made a _lot_ of marks on the last couple of pages he’d attempted. There was no way he got a single problem right, on those pages. Jason looked down at his hands, and braced himself for whatever Bruce was gonna say. If Bruce said there was no way he could catch up, he would _not_ start crying over it.

He wouldn’t.

But then Bruce set the papers down on the coffee table and said, “You’re a smart kid, you know that?”

It caught Jason so off guard, he couldn’t respond for several long seconds. He hid his face, a little, behind his knees as a smile formed on his face. Finally, he shook his head. Because it was the exact opposite thing he’d been expecting Bruce to say. Maybe ‘ _well I can tell you tried,’_ at the very best. But not ‘ _you’re smart.’_

His mom and dad used to tell him he was smart, when he was little. But considering his dad sometimes then called him an idiot or asked if he was stupid, every time Jason did anything he didn’t like, he always figured it wasn’t _really_ true. Just something they said. Because they were his parents, and it was, like, their job to say things like that.

“Well, you are,” Bruce said. He tapped on the stack of tests and continued, “You nailed these tests, your reading comprehension is completely up to grade level, and my guess is it’s far beyond it.”

“Yeah, but the math,” Jason said, looking back away from Bruce. He’d absolutely bombed on the math, he knew it.

“You’re at a sixth grade level for math,” Bruce said, nodding a little, “If we focus on math, I think we’ll get you caught up in no time.”

“But what about science?” Or history? Or… or… like, he didn’t know. _Art._ There was more than just reading and math at school, right? _Writing?_ The tests didn’t check to see where his _writing_ skills were. Sure he could read fine, but he hadn’t written any reports since third grade, and back then it was really just worksheets he filled out. Not actual reports and essays and stuff. He wasn’t even sure _how_ to write an essay.

“I think with science and everything else, you can jump right in this year,” Bruce said, “We can get you a tutor, or I can help you out when you come upon concepts that require some building blocks you’re missing. Really only math and reading require everything be learnt in order.”

“Oh.” So, so… this was really happening? Bruce was _really_ going to help Jason catch up? ‘ _In no time?’_ He felt like he was in a dream. Some weird, really happy dream.

How was this even real? Happy things did _not_ happen to him. Happy things were for dreams and fiction, not real life.

Jason looked down at his knees, and picked a piece of lint off his pant leg as he whispered, “You’re _really_ sending me to school?”

Bruce shifted on the couch, turning so he was sitting up and his feet were on the ground. He leaned forward and nodded seriously as he said, “Of course, Jay. Not only is it the law you get an education, but I personally think education is _vital._ I want you to have every opportunity in life to make something of yourself, and for that you _need_ an education.”

Bruce wanted him to _make something of himself?_ Like. Grow up and _be something?_ Something that required _education?_

“Like what?” Jason asked, trying to swallow down the swell of emotions he felt at _that._

“Well, I don’t know,” Bruce admitted, leaning onto his arms, resting on his knees. He furrowed his brow for a second, then shrugged, adding, “Anything you want to be.”

His mom used to always say that. He could be _anything._ He’d never fully believed it, though. How _could_ some alley rat be _anything?_

When his mom died, he’d kind of proved all that right. Because he became a whore.

He was pretty sure both of his parents would be disappointed in that outcome.

His dad used to have _plans_ for him, when he was little. He’d always say stuff like he could grow up and go to college and _be something better_ than a thief, or a thug, or some gutter rat. Like a doctor. He always told Jason he was going to grow up and be a doctor.

But then he went to jail for life. And wasn’t there to keep him from having to become a whore.

Although his dad made so little money, on his own, Jason probably would have had to work, anyway, once Mom died.

But now Bruce was supporting him, so maybe…

“My—“ Jason started, but stopped and sank back into his chair, slouching so his face was completely behind his knees. Bruce probably didn’t care what his dad used to always say. He should just be whatever Bruce wanted him to be, probably. Even if he _said_ anything, he probably did have a preference.

But then again, Dick didn’t know what he was doing, so maybe he really _didn’t…._

“Your?” Bruce prompted, gently, when a full minute had passed and Jason hadn’t finished the sentence.

After a deep breath, Jason said, slowly, “My dad used to say… he thought I could be a doctor one day. When I grew up and went to college.”

Bruce leaned back on the couch, crossing his arms as he did. Jason chanced a peek over his knees, and saw Bruce smiling one of his real smiles, as he said, “He’s absolutely right. If you want to be a doctor, we can help you realized that goal.”

“You’d help me?” Beyond, like, just finishing grade school?

“Of course. Do you want to be a doctor?”

Jason paused. “I—I don’t know,” he said, because he didn’t. He had no idea what he wanted to do as an adult. He just knew what he _didn’t_ want to be. After another second, he hugged his knees tight again and whispered, “I just don’t want to be a whore.”

That made Bruce sigh. Jason squeezed his fingers tight, from where he’d been holding one hand in the other, his arms still wrapped around his legs. Bruce kept saying he didn’t want all that from Jason, but Jason hadn’t told _him_ he didn’t want it yet, had he?

But if Bruce were telling him the truth, then he should be happy, right?

_Why was he sighing?_

“Jason,” Bruce said, after a second, “I hate that you use that word. That _that’s_ how you see yourself, but I _promise_ you, you _never_ have to do that sort of thing ever again. I would sooner _die_ than let someone touch you ever again.”

All Jason could do was nod.

Nod, and sink further back into the chair as he pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. His chin had started wobbling, and the very last thing he wanted to do was _cry._ He was so, so, _so_ sick of crying.

Of always feeling like he was on the edge of crying.

Wasn’t this a happy thing? Wasn’t this a _smile_ thing? Bruce just said he never had to _work_ ever again, right? In the context of growing up and doing something _more._

He should be _happy._ Not crying over this. If he kept crying over all this shit, Bruce would probably think he _didn’t_ want all the things he said he wanted.

It took him a minute, during which time he crossed his arms over his knees and buried his face in them. He wasn’t _really_ crying. Just. His eyes were watering a lot, and he sniffled a little. Bruce left him alone the whole time, didn’t say anything about it, which was good. Jason _really_ didn’t want him taking back what he said.

More than anything, he wanted everything Bruce said to be _true._

And so far… so far it all seemed like he was being real.

He’d do _anything_ to make it all be real.

Finally, though, Jason got himself back under control. He scrubbed his face clean with one of his sleeves and finally sat up, but completely avoided looking over at Bruce.

Which was fine, because Bruce wasn’t particularly watching him, either. He was back on his iPad, doing whatever it was he did. After Jason sniffled one last time, and turned in his chair so he was leaning against one of the armrests, his legs resting against the other, Bruce cleared his throat.

“I want to… propose something to you,” he said, once Jason looked over, “You don’t have to give me a yes or no answer today, okay? I want you to think about it, and then you can decide yes or no for yourself, and I’ll respect whichever choice you make.”

Jason froze, and curled his fingers into his pant legs, as his eyes threatened to start leaking again. Bruce _just said_ he didn’t have to work. He _just said._

_He’d promised._

“Do you understand that?” Bruce pressed, “You don’t have to answer now, and you can say yes or no, either one. Both are correct answers.”

It took taking a deep breath, and holding it for a second before he let it out, bu finally he was able to whisper, “I understand.”

Saying ‘no’ was something he could do. Probably. Maybe.

It depended on if it was worth it.

“Okay,” Bruce said. Jason closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for whatever it was Bruce wanted.

But then Bruce said, “I think you might benefit from therapy,” and all Jason could do was furrow his brow.

“What do you mean?” he asked, as he looked over at Bruce quizzically. Didn’t crazy people go to therapy? Did Bruce think he was crazy?

He _wasn’t._

_At least he wasn’t proposing sex…_

“Therapy is something confidential,” Bruce explained, meeting Jason’s gaze with a serious one, “between you and someone who is completely removed from everything. He or she will have nothing to do with your care, and will be someone you can confide in.”

Jason didn’t _need_ someone to confide in? Confide _what_ in them? He’d never had someone to _confide_ in before, why would he need it now?

“They’d help you work through things,” Bruce added, “Like if you’re upset about something, and you can’t figure out what it is, they’ll help you figure it out."

Why would he be upset about something and _not know?_

But… then again. He did keep crying… and he didn't even know why he was crying half the time. He just _did._ Stuff that never made him cry before, too.

Stuff he should be happy about…

Bruce ran a hand through his hair, and rambled on, “And they will never, never tell me anything you’ve said. It will be completely confidential between just you and them. The only thing they ever have to report is if you are a threat to others, like you tell them you’re going to kill someone, or they find evidence of abuse happening against you. Like if you told them I hit you, which I will _never_ do, they would be someone you could tell that sort of stuff to and they’d help you. They’d _have_ to help you.”

 _Okay,_ Jason thought. If Bruce would ‘never’ do that, why did he need someone he could tattle on him to, then?

And why the _hell_ would Jason go tattling on Bruce for just hitting him? Foster care was way worse than taking a beating every now-and-again.

Hell, he’d take his dad over anything that had happened once he got tossed into foster care, three miserable years ago.

“You’ve been through _so much,_ Jason,” Bruce said solemnly, when Jason still didn’t answer him, “I think therapy might help you work through it all.”

“But you said I don’t have to talk about stuff,” Jason said, hastily. Was _that_ what he wanted? Jason to talk about… about his job? And the mob, and all the things he knew?

“You don’t,” Bruce agreed, nodding, “You don’t have to talk about anything with them you don’t want to talk about. It will be up to you what is discussed.”

“Oh.” Then what was even the point? So he could talk about all the times he _cried?_ He didn’t want to talk about that. He wanted to forget it ever happened.

“I want to see you grow up to be happy and healthy, and I think therapy would help you achieve that.”

Jason tangled his fingers together, where they were resting against his thighs. He didn’t really know how to respond to _that._ Or even if he should. Bruce said he didn’t have to have an answer yet.

“But that’s just what _I_ want,” Bruce continued, “What I want doesn’t really matter, not near as much as what _you_ want.”

“What I want?” Jason asked.

Bruce smiled, what he probably thought was reassuring when Jason looked over. It hit more like _sad,_ though. “Yeah,” he said, “What do you want out of life?”

“I…” Jason started, turning his attention back to his fingers. He started picking at a hangnail as he mumbled, “I don’t know.” All he knew was he wanted to be _alive,_ as an adult. And college.

He wanted college _so, so bad._

“Therapy could help you figure that out.”

“Oh.” So someone would just… talk to him? About what he wanted to do when he grew up? And help him… figure it out?

Seemed weird, but…

Did he even need to figure it out? If he was with Bruce for real, it meant he had until he was _eighteen_ to figure it out, right? Not just until he got too big to be interesting to clients. He was so short, that probably wouldn’t have happened at fourteen, like some kids, but it was likely going to be before he turned eighteen.

But if all this was real…. And Bruce was sending him to school. He still had five years of school left. And just over five years until he was eighteen.

And even _Dick_ said he didn’t know what he wanted to do. He was eighteen, and already in college! And Bruce didn’t seem overly concerned he didn’t know.

So why _would_ he go to _therapy_ just to talk about all that?

_Because Bruce wanted him to._

And Bruce _also_ said he could say no. Because what _Bruce_ wanted didn’t matter, he said. Only what _Jason_ wanted.

“I want,” he started, but paused. He cut his eyes over at Bruce, and saw an encouraging smile, so he closed his eyes and forced out, “I know I want to go to college.”

“Yeah?” Bruce said, and he sounded so _happy_ Jason kind of wanted to cry again.

Because apparently he just wanted to cry about _everything._

Instead, he nodded his head and refused to look back over.

He’d never even told Donny he wanted to go to college one day. Donny probably would have laughed in his face. The workbooks were just busy work, he was sure Donny thought. Something to keep him occupied, and to maybe help him get a GED one day, so he could, like, work at a grocery store or something.

He didn’t want to see if Bruce doubted that was even possible. Whore kids did _not_ go to college, even if it was his dream. They just _didn’t._

“Well then, I want to do everything I can to help you get there,” Bruce said, “And I think something that would really help you get there is therapy.”

“Okay,” Jason whispered, swallowing hard. He wasn’t sure how _therapy_ would help with that at all, but he’d do anything. _Anything._ And if Bruce was promising college…

“Okay,” Bruce repeated, “you think on it, okay bud? Take all the time you need to answer that. In the meantime, do you want to go over some options for math? The sooner we start, the more caught up you’ll be in September.”

“Yeah,” Jason exhaled, pressing his hands into his eyes one more time as he took a deep breath. He’d _love_ the distraction of schoolwork. _Love it._

Maybe then he would stop crying over nothing every five seconds.

“Why don’t you go grab your laptop,” Bruce said, once Jason had uncovered his eyes and sat up fully, “it should have a good charge by now, but grab the power cord, too, okay? You can keep it wherever you want.”

Jason nodded, saying, “Okay,” as he pushed himself to his feet. _His_ laptop. That he could put _anywhere._ Like in his room.

He’d never owned a computer before.

A phone _and_ a computer.

“I’ll show you all the options on it, so you can do research on them yourself and choose something to start tomorrow, okay?”

Bruce really was giving him all the control…

How was any of this real?

As he made his way back to Bruce’s study, alone, because Bruce didn’t follow him, he decided to push all of those thoughts completely out of his mind. Because who cared how it was real? All that mattered was that it _was._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did ya cry? Cause I cried. Jason makes me cry every time he cries 😭 (and he cried way more than i anticipated in this chapter lmao)
> 
> Thanks Batbirdies and Randomfandomwoman for reading over the chapter for me. ❤️


	28. Chapter 28

Bruce walked Jason through all the different options he had for school, pulling up half a dozen websites as he went. There was honestly a _lot_ to process. Some of the ‘tabs’ on his internet browser were for actual online schools, because _apparently_ there were different _kinds_ of online schools, and some of them were websites for workbook-based curriculums. _Then,_ there was even a computer based curriculum that _wasn’t_ online school. 

Honestly there were so many options, it was a little overwhelming. 

But before Bruce could ask Jason what he thought about it all, Alfred walked into the den and said, “If you boys could take a break, I have lunch ready.” 

Lunch ended up being chicken pot pie, which was pretty weird. Jason had never heard of it, but it was a cute little bowl thing, with a really thick chicken soup baked under a crust of some sort. 

Alfred made both him and Bruce their own little bowls, and it was _delicious._

And even though Jason was in the dining room alone with Bruce, he didn’t even care. Because Bruce messed around on his phone the whole time, and left Jason alone to think. 

Jason had _a lot_ to think about. 

Bruce had spelled out the pros and cons he could see for all the options Jason had, and Jason had thought up a few more of his own.

If he did workbooks, he could pick out his curriculum himself. There was apparently a homeschool _store_ in Gotham Bruce would take him to, and he could flip through the workbooks before they bought them. Or he could read about the different programs online, and choose from there. And since he’d been doing workbooks for a few years, he knew how to do them. 

Granted, with those, if he got stuck, he just… stayed stuck. Donny was rarely in a mood to help him out, and none of the other boys had any more of an education than he did. If he got stuck _now,_ Bruce would help him. 

Which… was a con. Because then Jason would have to find Bruce probably every day, and have him check his work. Bruce had been nice so far, with the placement tests and such, but there was no promise he’d be nice about schoolwork progress. 

What if he got frustrated Jason wasn’t catching on to stuff? And realized Jason _couldn’t_ be a doctor and _wasn’t_ worth putting time and effort into? What if he realized Jason was only good for—

No.

He wouldn’t change his mind just because he figured out Jason was stupid. 

But it _was_ possible he’d realize it wasn’t worth teaching Jason, and just give up and ditch Jason to figure it all out on his own. Or he’d be all moody like Donny always was, and quit offering to help.

Which, now that Jason had access to the internet, that might not be devastating… he _could_ just look it up online. 

If he did online school, though, he’d have a teacher. And teachers _couldn’t_ give up on him, right? ‘Cause they were being paid. It was their _job_ to help him understand stuff.

Or they could get frustrated with him, too. And just be all snippy and unhelpful. 

Online school had videos, though, Bruce had said. There were videos with lessons, so if Jason didn’t get something, he could just watch the video over and over again, and it would be almost like having a teacher explain a concept over and over until it clicked. 

That, plus since Jason was allowed to take his computer to his room, online school was pretty tempting. He could do all his work from his bedroom and never have to see _anyone_ if he didn’t want to. 

Yeah. That was _definitely_ the best choice. 

Probably.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Jason looked up at Bruce, who was reading something on his phone as he absently pushed around the last few bites of his chicken pot pie in the little bowl. It made Jason relax just a touch, because Bruce _really_ wasn’t paying attention to him, at all. 

In fact, Bruce didn’t even notice Jason looking at him, so Jason cleared his throat and said, “Uh, Bruce?”

“Yeah, bud?” Bruce said, snapping his attention to Jason almost instantly. 

“Um,” he stammered, looking back down at his own chicken pot pie. He’d eaten most of it, but had picked around the peas. He was going to eat them all in one bite, so he only had one bite of gross, instead of every bite being gross.

But now he didn’t want eat them at all.

Or see Bruce’s reaction to basically telling him _I don’t want you to be my teacher._

Jason took a deep breath, and rushed out, “I think I want to do online school,” just as he scooped up his last non-pea bite. 

As Jason was putting the last bite in his mouth, Bruce said, brightly, “Great. Which one did you want?” and Jason paused, spoon right in front of his mouth and everything.

Because.

He didn’t know. He’d sort of forgotten he had to pick one. 

Bruce must have been a mind reader, because he said, “The one you took the placement tests from is a true online school, it is what they do. They operate year round and let students work at their own pace, so they won’t plan out your week for you, unless you want that. They _can_ create schedules, if that’s what you need to keep motivated. You’ll have a teacher assigned to you for each subject. They will have a lot of other students, too, so it’s not quite like having a private tutor, they are splitting their time between many students, but it _will_ be someone available to you as needed.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, nodding a little. Having a teacher was what he wanted.

“If you want another option,” Bruce continued, “I know of several that are basically just the curriculum, and there aren’t any teachers assigned to you. They rely heavily on video lessons, and then have parent guides so Alfred or I can help you out if you need extra support.”

Which just sounded like doing workbooks… 

“I think,” he said, setting his spoon back down into his bowl as he took another deep breath, “uh, the first one.” 

“Perfect,” Bruce said, “I think that’s the best option for you, too. We can get you signed up for that now, are you done eating?”

“Oh, uh no. I still have a little…” Jason stammered, looking down at all the peas left in his bowl. Peas mixed into the soup or gravy or whatever it was called, all the chicken and veggies were mixed into. It was honestly so gross looking, even though the gravy tasted good. 

Bruce leaned over, so he could look into Jason’s bowl, since Alfred always sat Jason right next to Bruce, with only the corner of the table between them. “Don’t like peas?” he asked.

Was it that obvious? Jason hesitated, and pushed the peas around in the gravy a little. He really _didn’t._ The flavor was fine, he supposed, but the texture was disgusting. He’d rather eat _asparagus_ than peas. And asparagus tasted like soap. 

Finally, though, Jason shook his head. Telling Bruce that _probably_ wouldn’t result in him being forced to eat peas every single night. Alfred was the one who fed them, anyway. And Alfred seemed eager to feed Jason stuff he _liked,_ not hated. 

Plus, if Bruce decided to punish Jason or whatever by making him eat _peas,_ who cared? He was fine with eating food he didn’t like. At least they were feeding him. 

Jason scooped all the peas up, ready to just force them all down quickly, when Bruce said, “Do you remember what you’re allowed to say? To anything?” 

“No?” he asked, looking up at Bruce a little skeptically. He definitely didn’t _forget._

Just wasn’t fully convinced Bruce meant it.

“That includes to food you don’t like,” Bruce said, gesturing toward Jason’s bowl, “If you don’t want to eat it, you do not have to eat it.”

“Oh.” Jason looked back down at the peas, and felt mildly bad _not_ eating them.”But it’ll go to waste.” 

Donny kept them pretty well fed, but his parents usually could _barely_ afford food, even with what his school always sent home with him. _Not_ eating food was never really an option. Even when the school sent home cans of peas. Either he ate the peas, or he starved. 

Starving was never an option. His dad _never_ let him skip eating food if he was served it.

“Jason,” Bruce said, slowly, “It’s a dozen peas. It won’t hurt anything to compost them, but if it _really_ bothers you, I will eat them for you. _You_ do not have to eat food you don’t like. You do not have to do _anything_ you don’t want to do.” 

“Right,” he mumbled, pushing the peas around a little more. It _was_ just a dozen peas. And it wasn’t like _him_ not eating them would hurt anyone. Or make another person starve… 

With a deep breath, Jason pushed the bowl away from himself and said, “Okay.” He didn’t push it toward Bruce, though, because he didn’t want to make _Bruce_ eat peas, either. Especially since Bruce didn’t even finish his own pot pie. 

“So are you done?” Bruce asked, as Jason picked up his glass and drank the last bit of lemonade. 

“Yeah.”

Bruce smiled warmly and said, “All right, good job,” as he gathered up Jason’s dishes and stacked them on his own, “Then let’s go get you signed up for school.” 

Jason followed along easily, his hands tucked into his hoody pocket, flipping his phone over and over inside as Bruce led him through the kitchen to drop the dishes into the sink, then back to the den. The entire way, Bruce limped, clearly trying to baby his hurt ankle. 

In the den, Jason paused in the doorway, watching as Bruce picked up Jason’s laptop from the coffee table and sat down on the large couch. “Come here,” Bruce said, patting at the cushion next to him, “I want you to see what I’m doing.” 

“Sure,” Jason said, shuffling over toward the couch. He paused, for a second, then change his trajectory to _behind_ the couch, next to where Bruce was sitting. Jason was short, but he was plenty tall enough to lean over the back of the couch comfortably on his elbows and see everything Bruce was doing. 

Plus, it meant he didn’t have to sit next to Bruce. Where he could just pull Jason over onto his lap. 

Which he probably _wouldn’t_ do. But if all he really wanted was for Jason to see what he was doing, and _not_ to be able to… do whatever with Jason, then he shouldn’t have a problem with how Jason was standing. 

Right?

Must have been right, Because Bruce looked back at Jason and offered one of his tiny little smiles, before he opened up the web browser and navigating to the school website. 

He talked Jason through the whole signup process. Bruce apparently _already_ had a ‘parent’ login, because of Dick or something, so he showed Jason what the parent side of everything looked like as he registered Jason as a new student. 

It was a little weird to see Bruce’s name be listed as Jason’s _parent._ But, if it meant he got to do _school,_ he didn’t care.

Plus, _foster_ parent was a thing. That Bruce supposedly was.

The sign up required a lot of information, including Jason’s Social Security Number, which Bruce just _knew,_ off the top of his head. 

“Numbers are easy to remember,” Bruce had said, when Jason asked ‘what the fuck,’ “If I see a string of numbers, generally I can remember them without much effort.” 

“You’re so weird,” he grumbled, as he looked down at his hands, “That’s not _normal.”_

“It is if you practice it,” Bruce said, the corner of his mouth turned up. Apparently he found being insulted _amusing._

With a scoff, Jason said, “What a weird thing to waste time on.” 

“Okay,” Bruce said, as he sat up a little taller and pointed at the screen, “You’re all signed up. You’re officially a student of Cornerstone Academy. To login you click here…” 

Jason paid close attention as Bruce walked him through every single button he might possibly need to use. There was a messaging system, within the portal, which would let Jason communicate with his teacher. If he was doing more than one subject, he’d have multiple teachers, but since Bruce had only signed him up for 6th grade math to begin, he would only have the one teacher. It also would let Jason message Bruce, for some reason, but he didn’t see the point there. 

Bruce even said he’d prefer Jason find him or text him instead, since he didn’t plan on logging in very often, unless Jason _wanted_ him staying on top of what Jason was doing. 

And since Jason _didn’t,_ he said, “That’s fine. I can just text you.” Or not. Because Jason had a _teacher,_ so why would he go to Bruce for help?

Also, Alfred existed. Alfred was super nice. He might help Jason, if Jason ever needed help. _Maybe._

It probably wouldn’t hurt to ask. 

“Well then,” Bruce said, logging out of his own profile on the website, “If you need any help, you know where I am. I’m happy to help. There are also all the help guides that will walk you through anything you need to do on the website.” 

“Okay.”

“Then have at it,” Bruce said, holding the laptop up so Jason could take it. He leaned over and grabbed the coiled up power cord from the coffee table and passed it to Jason too, “Let me know if you need anything.” 

“Can I take this to my room?” he asked, even though he was pretty sure the answer was _yes._

Sure enough, Bruce nodded, and said, “Of course. You can work wherever you want. Your room, the library, the kitchen, outside. Doesn’t matter to me.” 

“Cool.” _Outside_ sounded pretty neat, actually. On days when it wasn’t raining, like it was that day. But he’d have to keep that in mind. 

In the meantime, he was going to work up in his bedroom. Where no one would bother him. He’d spent _so much_ time with Bruce already. 

Jason spun to leave the room, his computer safely held to his stomach so he wouldn’t drop it. Just before he left, however, he turned back to Bruce and said, “Thanks, Bruce. For, uh, school.” 

“Of course, kiddo,” Bruce said. He had turned back around on the couch, so his leg was propped up on his pillow again, but he still twisted around to offer Jason a smile, “I’m glad you’re excited for school.” 

With a nod, Jason smiled back, just a little. Because, yeah. He was excited for school. And even more excited that Bruce _wanted_ Jason to go to school, and get an education. And to _grow up_ to be something. 

_Anything._

As Jason skipped up the stairs, to his room, his smile only grew. 

He was a _student._ Of a _real school._

Him. Jason Todd. At age twelve, already a student again. 

No matter what the heck was going on in Bruce’s house, Jason was kind of a little glad Bruce had bought him. 

Okay. Kind of a lot glad. If only for _this._

_He was a student._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cornerstone Academy isn't a real school. Well, I'm sure there are schools out there called that, but I just changed the name of a real online school I loosely based it on. But anyway, a bit of a short chapter but that's just because the next scene is probably 2500 words on its own, and I didn't want to delay posting a chapter any longer, and this was such a good spot to split anyway. Hopefully I'll get another chapter up soon, but we'll see! I really need to give The Best Things some attention, even though I don't wanna. 😂
> 
> Thanks for reading!! ❤️


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